Scouts and I have a complicated relationship. If asked straight up I would say that I hate scouting. I don't like the hypocrisy of a group that talks of citizenship, yet is not equitable for all citizens. I don't like a bunch of kids that act like terrors standing up and reciting stuff about decency and kindness with smug little looks on their faces. All of this chanting about exactness, and yet doing a million short-cuts. For example, if you're supposed to wear the uniform as outlined in the book that they profess to be following, what's with throwing a rumpled scout shirt on over some skater shorts and a hoody?
The fact that the boy scout guy was friends with Rudyard Kipling, and in 1916 created cub scouting by using framework from The Jungle Book is kind of cool. I'll give credit where credit is due. Though the whole Akela thing seems silly if the kid doesn't really know where it comes from.
Anyway. So, scouting. I have these hang-ups. Mormon boys are kind of naturally funneled into the scouting program. Something I was always like no way -- the kid chooses. And then I had this quirky kid spring from my womb who loved things like patches and badges and notebooks and checklists and keys and rules... He was so excited about scouting from the time he was like three that he asked his Nana to make him a fake scout shirt. We collected patches for a long time (my favorite being an oval name patch like the type on mechanic's shirts that said, "Romeo"), and she sewed them on a khaki button-down shirt. He loved that shirt. And the countdown to scouting began.
You can join cub scouts at eight. The deal was that he not be a hypocrite. If it says to wear the full uniform, you wear the full uniform. If you're committing to be a good citizen and you're to show respect, then you do your very best most of the time. Further, it was supposed to be something that he did on his own when possible, and when help was needed his dad was to be his go-to.
Because here's where the complicated part about the relationship comes in. The Dad loved scouting as a kid. Loved it. Earned a million merit badges and squarely, fairly earned his Eagle by his 13th birthday (something only possible if you a) work your guts out and b) your dad is a scout leader and so you're allowed to go on the over-nights). There was a picture in his parents house of him at his Eagle court of honor -- imagine the most awkward looking kid you've ever seen ABSOLUTELY beaming. (A friend of mine saw that picture once and years later told me that when she's having a bad day that picture is what she thinks of to prompt the giggles.) My husband's feelings towards scouts are pure and honest. His memories are of working hard and learning skills and feeling competent and accomplished. In short, scouts made that fuzzy-headed (oh, the misguided attempts to feather curly hair...), skinny, pimply kid with braces and enormous glasses feel like a man. A good man. A citizen who made the world better.
That lover of scouts has been working long hours. Further, he's been volunteering out at the Rockaways helping with Sandy relief on the weekends (this video is cool). So today, with an email sitting in my inbox stating that Judd the Red Chicken was to have his handbook up-to-date, I sat down with him and we talked about what he's been working on while The Girl drew.
The requirements are ridiculously easy. I felt like we could knock out the entire book in a weekend. As we talked about stuff I saw that he was pretty excited, for these are areas where a nerdling can really shine. Want to talk about historical characters? He's your kid. Want to retell a tall tale? How much time have you got?
Going to scouts on Fridays isn't always his favorite thing. Most of the boys are very athletic and play aggressively in the gym before starting the meeting. That bewilders him ("If you tag a kid he pretends like he wasn't tagged, or he throws his arms up in your face like he's mad at you and going to hit you."). A lot of the kids are just downright rude -- because of certain comments he feels insecure about wearing the full uniform, and so now I leave it up to him whether or not the shirt is tucked in, or the neckerchief is worn. Up until today, I kind of thought this scouting business might be dying without me ever having to sabotage it (point of fact: I've always tried to be nicely neutral). But then I watched his face as he talked about carving his soap, and I saw how excited he was to take the pledge about carrying a pocket knife (gasp! I was like: do some of those scouts I see running around actually have pocket knives on them???), and I had to concede that every Lord of the Flies island has redemptive elements.
The Girl continued along with her art. She took a candy-coated caramel that we bought today while out on a field trip that looked like this:
And sculpted it into a tiny, lovely little bird.
Perhaps our theme for the year is simply going to be: it's what you choose to make out of it.
