I’m not in the above photo. It’s a random picture I found somewhere on the internet to represent scouting as a whole. It seems to have been captured somewhere in Eastern Europe or someplace like that, but nonetheless, I found it interesting.
I’ve got a fun little story to share today. It has to do with my adventures while scouting as a boy and then about the day I quit that scouting. I’m hopeful this post will end up on the shorter side, but as you may have noticed, when I get on a roll, I get on a roll.
My activities with the Boy Scouts, or should I rather say, Cub Scouts and Webelos, lasted a mere few years and ended when I was quite young. If I had to guess, I stopped being a Webelo when I entered the sixth grade. I was persuaded by a seventh grade girl into entering a romantic relationship as I was about halfway through sixth grade and I can’t imagine having a girlfriend while simultaneously being affiliated with the scouts. Maybe she wouldn’t have minded, but I probably would have. I most likely needed to start acting cool around that age, something a Cub Scout or Webelo would have difficulty doing. Nothing against the scouts at all, but me ending a phone call with my lady only to begin another phone conversation with one of my friends to discuss our next scouting achievement or activity would be unthinkable. But then again, I was somewhat weird at that age and the relationship I’m telling you about didn’t last very long at all. A few weeks at most. And if you’re curious, this girlfriend of mine was one of my older sister’s friends. She dated pretty much everyone she laid eyes on and I was just another one of her conquests. Such maturity for an 11 year old! In case you’re interested, we held hands once. I told her I wasn’t that kind of guy and the relationship promptly fell apart. She called my house to see if I wanted to accompany her to the movies. She asked through my sister. I said no and that I didn’t want to talk to her right then. A few seconds later, she broke up with me through my sister. I suppose our foundation was shaky to begin with, you know, being 11 and 12 years old.
Most of my elementary school friendships stemmed from Cub Scouts and Webelos. From what I gather, Cub Scouts begins at five years old, or kindergarten, and continues on through third grade. Webelos is reserved for nine and 10 year olds, or fourth and fifth graders. Obviously, my memory is somewhat fuzzy as I think back to those times, but I do recall that my mother was what is referred to as a Den Leader. Basically, she hosted once per week visits by a handful of others in my age group to accomplish various tasks at her kitchen table. We all owned a small handbook and on each page of said handbook were fairly straightforward activities each one of us were to complete to attain a badge of some sort. When I left my parents’ house for college when I was older, I distinctly recall my old Cub Scout uniform hanging in one of my bedroom closets. I wonder if my mother kept it in storage after she and my father moved down south. It’d be something interesting to look at today.
As Laura and I were talking through breakfast a few days ago, we somehow meandered into the discussion of my one-time scouting. I’m certain she didn’t begin this conversation as she has little interest in the topic and I’m somewhat confident it began due to another conversation branching off into that one. If memory serves, I was telling her about my mother’s aversion to quitting clubs and activities. She oftentimes referred to those who quit as quitters. As my mother guided me through my younger years, she would, from time to time, profess to me the importance of sticking to what I had initially sought to accomplish. She would tell me that, “You’ll get nowhere in life if you consistently discover interests, become involved with those interests, and then abandon them.” As I made my way through life, I realized that I took my mother’s words to heart. I’m confident I did because I can think of a dozen or so activities or hobbies I found myself engaged in for far too long – activities I should have quit long before I did. When I was a kid though, sticking to my activities was a worthwhile endeavor. If I had quit each one after I lost interest, I’m not sure I would have finished anything. My mother called it sticktoitiveness. “More people need some sticktoitiveness. So many damn quitters out there!”
I didn’t want to quit Webelos. I honestly didn’t. I remember the night well. My mother drove me to a scouting awards ceremony of sorts at the St. Lawrence O’Toole catholic school in Brewster. The school’s basement is where we held all of our more official scouting meetings. For the most part, our activities were held at my house and in the field, but again, for any type of more formal meeting, St. Lawrence O’Toole school lunchroom it was. Which was fine because those larger meetings gave the scouts a chance to meet others from the various dens in the area.
I suppose I hadn’t given what was to occur that night much previous thought. I was to graduate from Webelos and join the more authoritative Boy Scouts – a group consisting of older boys ranging from 11 years all the way up to 18 years, or from middle school through high school. The thing is, I liked my Webelos uniform. It consisted of the same pants and shirt as my Cub Scouts garb, but it included a nice light and dark blue baseball cap. My Cub Scouts cap was all navy blue with thin yellow lines along the seems and was smaller in stature, but that was fine. Either would do because the colors appealed to me. And as a buddy teenager, I suppose fashion was somewhat important. I really wasn’t in the mood to change things.
We held our meeting and after it, we held a graduation, or moving up, ceremony for the scouts old enough to do so. I was lumped into this moving up group. Mind you, I was in sixth grade. I was young.
During the ceremony, the older Boy Scouts were asked to stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder. They did. Then the newly initiated Boy Scouts, including me, were asked to stand in the same line, with the Boy Scouts. We young lads were the newest Boy Scouts of the group.
I’ll remember this moment forever. As I stood in that line, I looked to my left and realized what this organization was asking of me. The Boy Scouts uniform wasn’t blue (my favorite color) in any way, shape, or form. It was army green and it included a garrison cap, not the baseball cap I was so fond of. If you aren’t familiar with garrison caps, look around for a photo. They’re the ones shaped like a banana that sit from front to back on the head. As I glanced to my left and as the idea of me wearing the green with the cap I definitely knew I was never going to wear sank in, I had made the decision to leave scouting for good. There was no way anyone was getting me into that getup. Especially being in the sixth grade. I wasn’t about to begin hanging out with seniors in high school either. All the while, wearing an army green uniform with an ugly hat.
I was quiet during the ride home. At the time, my mother drove a mint green Chevrolet Chevette that we endearingly termed the “vette,” as in Corvette. After we pulled into our driveway and after we both (my mother and me) exited the car, I sheepishly informed her that, “I think I’m going to quit Boy Scouts. I just don’t like it anymore.” To which she responded, “Oh thank God!” There I stood in shock, considering how nervous I was to tell this woman who was repulsed by the idea of anyone quitting anything that I intended to quit one of my most popular obligations. “What?” I asked. “I am so sick and tired of driving you to these meetings. If you want to quit, that’s fine with me,” she replied. I was overjoyed by our seemingly mutual agreement. I hadn’t actually ever given much thought to how my poor mother felt about hauling me around to meeting after meeting, much less hosting events and what could only be described as weekly crafting fiascos at our home.
Who knew she was so sick and tired of it all? If she was simply honest with me, we both could have quit a heck of a lot sooner than we did. And now that I think of it, perhaps I should have informed my mother that I wasn’t interested in being part of the swim team, band, CCD, and everything else I found myself entangled with back in those days. Yeah, no. Quitting scouting was one thing. Me quitting everything wouldn’t have gone over very well.
