At the end of the final campfire the boys are milling around, nobody really wants to go back to the campsite; they don't want it to end. A soccer ball is produced and it's getting kicked around with no real purpose, just to have fun. The kids from the troop from Ireland join in with great enthusiasm and after a few minutes of playing around, one of their guys turns to one of our boys and asks, "Do you want to trade uniforms?" The boy looks at me as if to ask for permission, and I tell him, it's his uniform, if he wants to trade it's fine with me. In a flash they are pulling off their shirts and one after another the Irish kids are clad in BSA green and we (including the leaders) are clad in Irish blue. The spontaneity and joy are tangible; it feels as though we could stand out there together through the whole night, just talking and laughing; big silly grins on our faces, picking out who has whose uniform, trying to think of what else we have to trade. Finally, reality sets in and we realize we must go back to our campsites. Our guys go back feigning Irish accents with heavy southern drawls and calls of "Ireland Rocks!" drifting through the air. The next morning at breakfast we sit with the Irish troop and afterwards we get a picture together. Our Troop Committee Chair, Ernie Caviness gives his authentic Cherokee walking stick he has carried for several years now to one of the Irish leaders who recently lost his leg. Tears are shed, addresses and good-byes exchanged and more pictures taken, and we head our separate ways. We will make our Irish uniforms our official uniforms for awhile -- until we can afford to replace them. But no amount of money could buy what we shared on that warm summer night in the woods with a group of wonderful people who traveled from a beautiful land, torn by violence, over an ocean to be there.

Thank you Mount Hermon for sponsoring the scouts and making this possible. It is a memory that boys and leaders alike will keep for the rest of our lives.

--John Parker