For our weekend stay on the USS Yorktown, our scout group slept in the general crew quarters at the stern of the aircraft carrier. About 120 dads and scouts bunked in three rooms, each only maybe 50% bigger than our master bedroom at home. There were 44 sleepers in our particular room.

The bunks were stacked in pairs, 4 high. In the floor space that a cheap and small normal double bed would take, there were eight sleepers. Calfgrit8 and I slept side-by- side on the second bunk from the floor.

Getting in and out of the bunks took a special gymnastic talent. Some of the boys could climb up and jump from one bunk set to the next like acrobats. Us dads, though, were a little more cautious and slow.

I tried several different ways to get into my bunk, but only one way actually worked. Just climb in head first, face down, then roll over onto my back or side. The mattresses are almost exactly my length, and only a few inches wider than my shoulders.

Once in bed, there was only six inches between the tip of my nose to the bottom of the bunk above me. If I wasn’t careful when rolling over on to my side, my shoulder would scrape the wire supports of the bunk above me. And, of course, any movement by any one of the eight in the bunk set could be felt by everyone else above, below, and beside him.

Getting out of bed was even more difficult because one mistake could have you tumbling out onto the hard, steel floor. It’s obvious that these berths were designed for 19 year olds, not for 40 year olds. Of course the 7-10 year olds not only didn’t have a problem with the berths, they loved climbing in, out, and on them.

Although I got used to sleeping in the bunk by the second night (after one night and one nap), the thing that I couldn’t get used to was the fact that we had nowhere to sit. I’m so used to sitting on the edge of my bed at home to put on my socks and shoes, and for any of the multitude of functions that sitting down helps with. I found myself several times kind of spinning in a circle, lost at trying to sit down somewhere. I had to sit on the floor to put on my socks and shoes, and had to kneel over the suitcase on the floor to get out our clothes. It’s amazing how a mind gets so used to something so basic that it shuts down when that basic expectation is taken away.

Taps and lights out was 11:00 pm, and reveille and lights on was at 6:00 am. Eleven to six is not all that unusual for me (Calfgrit4 gets us up at 6:00 normally, every day), but Calfgrit8 needs and gets 11-12 hours of sleep each night at home. Plus, the heavy activities of the day — climbing, playing, and exploring what amounts to a giant playground — made everyone extra tired. The uncomfortable bunk sets with 8 sleepers, and the noises and disturbances that come from sleeping in a room with 40+ other people (a dad or two snoring, a couple of boys talking and laughing), made the sleeping time not as restful as needed.

The sleeping and bathing arrangements (1 shower per ~30 people) were the least fun parts of this adventure on the Yorktown. I’ll tell you about the more fun parts tomorrow.

(The ladies on this adventure were set up in the officers’ quarters — no more than 4 people per room. Harrumph.)

Bullgrit

Today, Calfgrit8 and I leave for Charleston, SC, to spend the weekend aboard the USS Yorktown. His Cub Scout pack is part of several scout packs (and one Girl Scout troop) who are being allowed to spend all weekend, including two nights, on the aircraft carrier.

We’re leaving home about 1:00 p.m. and driving five hours, just the two of us. We’re both really looking forward to the trip. Sadly, Calfgrit4 is just as interested in it, but he won’t be going. He and Cowgrit are going to my hometown to visit the grandparents.

At the Yorktown, we’ll be sleeping in the crew bunks, eating in the ship’s mess hall, and will have full, free reign for exploring the ship. Saturday morning, after breakfast, we’ll take a boat over to Fort Sumter. Saturday afternoon we may watch the movie Tora! Tora! Tora! in the ship’s theater. All other time we’ll just look around at whatever there is to be seen. Looking at www.patriotspoint.org it looks like there’re aircraft and spacecraft to see on the ship. Very cool.

I’ve been to the USS North Carolina several times, and I’ve been to the USS Intrepid a couple times, but this will be CG8’s first visit to a ship. I don’t know which of us is more excited.

Bullgrit

My boys have a totally different opinion from me of what makes for a good restaurant. They love Golden Corral. I started taking Calfgrit8 there when he was still in a highchair (just he and me), and we continued when Calfgrit4 was in a highchair, and now we still continue to go there once every month or two. (We do this when it’s just us guys out for dinner.)

I like going to a restaurant to have someone wait on me — someone to take my order, bring me my sweet tea, cook my meal, and serve it to me all while I sit and just entertain the boys. But the Golden Corral buffet doesn’t work like that — I have to get up and get my own food and serve myself, and the boys.

I originally took my boy/boys to GC because it was a real easy way to get fruits and vegetables in them. It’s easier to get such stuff in their mouths when they can look over the range of choices and pick what they want. Then they can’t complain that they don’t like it or don’t want it. (Cooking for them can be a crap shoot, with one wanting one thing, and the other wanting something completely different. “But I don’t like green beans, I want corn.”)

We don’t go to GC very often, but the boys seem to always ask for it when given the chance to pick a dinner destination. Last night I finally learned/realized why they like GC so much.

Calfgrit4 directly said, “Daddy, you know why I like Golden Corral?”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t have to wait for them to bring us our food. We can get it ourselves and eat it soon.”

Well, yeah, that makes sense for him. Four-year-olds aren’t big on waiting, especially when they’re hungry and waiting for food.

But another reason dawned on me last night when we were at GC: the boys like getting up and moving around during dinner. Sitting at a table and just chatting with Dad gets boring, apparently. With a buffet, they can get out of their seats and move about the restaurant every few minutes.

I remember when I first started letting our oldest Calfgrit go about and get his own food. When he was six I let him go to the buffet by himself — I picked a table where I could see all up and down the buffet line so I could watch him while he navigated the people and got his food. I started letting him go on his own for two reasons: 1- because he needed to learn a little independence, and 2- it was a hassle to have to bring his little brother in his highchair with us every time big brother needed more food.

Now, at 8 years old, Calfgrit8 can completely handle the buffet all on his own. He even knows to always get at least one vegetable and one fruit before he gets his pizza, without me needing to tell him. Calfgrit4 still needs my help, but since he’s long out of the highchair, the process is much easier. He even knows to hold his plate with two hands so he doesn’t drop his food on the floor, without me needing to tell him.

To be continued. . .

Bullgrit

Ninja Monkeys
by Calfgrit8, 2nd grade

One night while I was sleeping ninja monkeys snunk into my room and kidnaded me and made me the first mate on there monkey pirte ship. When I got there we set sail for trecher. I had two guns and one shine gold sord. After we went 3 miles south we saw a huge green skalle sea monster. Its tong is like a sord so I hade a sord fight with it. Then I won. Just then a tracher chest in its plaece. It hade gold and siver. I go 5000,000 dallers. Then I thoat of a plan to go home. I trund the ship around. When I got to the shore I snake off with my mony and left my wepens on the ship. The end.

* * *

I considered fixing his misspellings and grammar. The funny thing is, he can spell every word in this story when I ask him and when he writes the word individually. He’s got a good imagination, but I guess he expects to rely on an editor to make sense of everything he quickly writes. He’s got the makings of a writer, but as a professional editor, myself, I’ll have to train him to take more time and self edit as he goes.

Bullgrit