Cameron went to the east coast in 2005 at age 15 with a large group of Boy Scouts to attend National Jamboree. He was going to be gone for a little more than two weeks and one of the items on the packing list was detergent so they could wash their clothes.
When Nick went in 2001, I could buy pre-measured packets and did so. I looked high and low when Cameron went four years later and couldn't find anything. No problem. I'm resourceful and imaginative. I measured out eight or ten small load's worth of detergent, vacuum-sealed them individually, put them all together into a gallon zip bag, and gave them to Cameron to pack.
A couple of weeks later, we were standing in one of many long lines of uniformed Boy Scouts at the Eugene airport waiting for their luggage to be checked. I'm thinking 'checked' as in 'checked baggage, not carry-on' and it was 'checked' as in the TSA officer having the boys open their bags so he could check the contents. Not a problem. I knew Cameron didn't have anything he wasn't supposed to have.
Cameron's checked bag was a very large duffel stuffed fairly full. He shoved it along with his foot as the line inched closer to the officers. Eventually, he came to the front and the officer asked him to open his bag. Cameron obligingly reached down and, with one smooth, quick motion, zipped it open. The sides of the bag promptly fell wide, revealing a gallon zip bag full of smaller packets containing white granulated stuff lying right on top.
The officer stood there transfixed and I instantly realized what he thought he was seeing. I practically gibbered as I tried to explain what that packet was and offered to open one to prove it. I think I might have even asked Cameron if he had his knife on him to open one.
After a moment, the officer seemed to come to himself and waved away my offers. "You're Boy Scouts," he said. "I trust you."
"Besides, it doesn't look like drugs, really," he added.
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