By Mary Garrison
At the ripe old age of 11, my son determined to strike out on his own. He packed up his bag, grabbed a tent and flashlight and headed out into the wilderness of western Kentucky.
… Only to turn around two days in on his first real adventure into quasi-independence and adolescence and come home. Apparently, overnight camping with the Boy Scouts wasn't nearly as much fun as what he and I had hoped.
To subscribe to the E-edition, please click here .