They come home bruised, scratched, sunburned, sore, and ..........happy. The women in their lives let them go because we realize that this little excursion keeps them from exploding. We get to hear stories about how they almost drowned, or how they floated downstream and had to be picked up by others with a car. We get to check them for ticks; ALWAYS check them for ticks. We get to wash their mud caked clothes. Sometimes we get a wild berry plant, carefully transplanted to our back yard. And there is always a funny photo or two.
I hope they pass this tradition on. Our son goes, and so do a few of his friends. It's an event that reminds them in the most basic way that they are men. God bless them.