For most of my teenager years, Mondays evenings were synonymous with one thing — Boy Scouts — which remains partial to that weekday.In my hometown, every boy wore the scarf and sash. Part and parcel with spending every waking minute outside, it was a perfect fit for parents as well — ship the boys out on campouts and give the adults at least one, if not two, nights of solitude. But it was the campouts, not the meetings, that sustained us.