Boy Scouts?
As my teacher distributed the florescent flyers, they glimmered under the classroom lighting. It’s highlighter green coloring grabbed my attention, but it was the eloquent writing that really sucked me in, “Do you want a pocket knife?” Yes. Yes, I do want a pocket knife. How do you know this? Did they print this flyer just for me? They must have, how else could they have known I wanted a pocket knife so soooo soooooo bad. I remember I used to carry around one of my mother’s lipstick cases because it resembled a pocket knife (Looking back, it did not resemble a pocket knife. I don’t know why I carried this around). The flyer went on to say other fantastic things like, “Do you want to learn how to make a fire with sticks?” OF COURSE!! As a eight year old pyromaniac I loved fires, especially ones made with STICKS!! It ended just as good as it started, “Do you want to go camping and build forts?” How did they infiltrate my brain and learn of all my innermost desires? They knew my dreams, my fantasy’s. Was this love? At eight I wasn’t sure, but I knew there was something special happening.
I was so excited I reread the flyer and stormed out of class before the 2:00pm bell rang. Flyers in hand, I waited in the car pool for my mom. Before she stopped the car I was already in the backseat giggling with glee. Immediately, she noticed my obvious excitement and asked what was behind the big smile. This is what I said to her word for word, “Mom, knifes, scouting, wooden fires, happiness, please, oh my god, mom, boys, tents, ahhhhhhhhhhhh”. I fainted at ahhhhhhhh, but when I regained consciousness my six year old sister was drawing dicks on my face. Face covered in droopy dick drawings, I jump into the front seat and let my boyish love burst out, “Mom I have all these flyers for this thing called the boy scouts. They teach you how to make fires with wood, how to build forts, and the give you pocket knives”. Out of breath I smiled and waited for her response. While my mother fixed her hair in the mirror she casually replied “Danny, silly, boy scouts are for faggots”. “WHAT! Wait. Mom, what’s a faggot?” Now touching up her lipstick, “Don’t worry baby you’re not a fag”. My six year old sister decided to speak up, “Of course he’s a faggot, look at all those big dicks on his face”. I was confused. Didn’t they hear me? I was talking about the boy scouts! This was the greatest thing in the world. In the midst of my thought my mother spoke again, “Danny, we’ll sign you up for soccer again this year. You liked that, remember?” I play soccer for one game and quit after no one told me to wear shin guards. I had to wear legs braces for three years. The wounds on my shins will never heal.
While crying and failing my arms wildly I explained to my mother that I don’t want to play soccer, or stupid baseball, I wanted to be in the boy scouts. They give you uniforms and you get badges and I also loved the movie Bushwhacked, where the boy scout troop gets kidnapped by a runaway felon. At this point my sister suggested my mother should sign me up for girls scouts, that way we could get cookies. They both laughed as I screamed and punched the dashboard. It hurt and I started crying. To calm my tears my mom said I could talk to my father about joining if I really wanted to do it.
Still gripping hope, I told my dad that I wanted to be a boy scout. In his work shirt and a pair of underwaer, he stared at me for quite some time before he finished his beer and then asked, “Are you fucking with me? Did your mom make you say that, because I still didn’t fix the washing machine?” He yelled upstairs, “I’ll fix the fucking washing machine, damn it”! Shaking my head, “Dad no one told me to say that. I got a flyer in school about the best thing in the world…The Boy Scouts! I want to join it so bad. I love it so much. I love it enough to be the president boy scout”. What my father said next as he poured steak sauce on his chicken leg has stayed with me throughout my life, “Danny what if I told you you could be a boy scout, but on your first trip your leader would stick his finger in your ass?” How does a eight year old boy respond to this? “You mean like a thermometer, to check my temperature?” Still staring at me blankly my father replied, “Yes, he wants to check the temperature of your asshole to make sure it’s nice and warm”. Again I was young, “Well if it’s warm then I might have a fever. Am I getting sick?” My father smacked me in the face with his sauce covered chicken leg and walked out of the kitchen. Seconds later he walked back in, “Are those dicks drawn all over your face?” “Yes dad”. He broke a lamp as stormed out of the kitchen once again.
As the day came for the boy scout meeting after school I remember sulking in my seat as ‘the other kids’ talked about what color pocket knife they were going to get. I made a promise to myself that day, when I have a son he can be a boy scout no matter what. Even if he is stupid and has three legs, he can be a boy scout. Because everyone should have the opportunity to learn to build forts and stick fires.
I should mention that after the kids who joined came back from there first camping trip they all said the were sick. They all looked fine so I question what was wrong? They told me their troop leader said they looked warm and had to check them for a fever.
Update: They were all molested and have no friends on facebook.
Here’s some pictures of their scout leaders, courtesy of court records.
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