First Class Scout
“Scouthood gives a boy the unique opportunity to learn to be a man. You may not remember every knot or go camping every weekend, but you will always know how to be prepared.”
“Okay,” was all I could think to say to my stern, Southern scoutmaster, Brother Barton.
“Let’s begin then. Dylan, do you believe you are ready to advance to the ‘Star’ rank?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Great, let's hear the scout slogan.”
“Do a good turn daily,” I said proudly. “What good turn did you do on July 8?” he asked.
July 8, over two weeks ago. I struggled to remember if I ate Fruit Loops or Raisin Bran for breakfast that very same morning.
After a few seconds of thinking, I remembered. I spent the day shooting squirrels with my airsoft gun.
“I can’t remember.” He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Hmm.”
Was he expecting me to do a good turn every day? I began to panic.
A rope was now on the table. “I would like you to tie a bowline knot.” Every knot I had ever learned suddenly fled my memory.
“I can’t remember the bowline.”
Again, “Hmm.”
Every other scoutmaster review was a simple conversation, not a test!
Brother Barton opened a random page in the Scout’s Handbook. “Page 64 of the handbook teaches you the proper methods of carrying an immobilized person. Please name three of the methods.”
“Fireman’s carry.”
Okay, maybe I can turn this around.
“Ankle carry.”
LFG.
“And…”
Blank. I could not remember a third.
“I can’t remember.”
“Hmm.”
The one-syllable word, “hmm”, was now torture to my 12-year-old ears.
“What is your blood circle?” he asked.
Blood circle? What in the name of square knots and peeing on fires is a blood circle? Why can I not remember?
Brother Barton was, of course, asking about the required arm’s length distance from any nearby person when using a knife.
I knew if I got this one wrong it was over, he’d fail me.
I thought long and hard as his serious blue eyes penetrated my First Class Boy Scout soul. It was looking like I’d be a First Class scout for good.
I will never sit in the Eagle’s Nest!
What girl’s father will let her daughter marry a First Class scout?
I couldn’t say “I can’t remember” again. I mustered together the most logical answer I could think of.
“A protective circle of blood around your campsite to warn off bears.”
…
Now, Brother Barton wasn’t a big laugher, but there were two things you especially didn’t joke about; Alabama football and scouthood.
But on the day, I saw the briefest smirk escape his mouth.
Brief moments are just that, brief. We were right back to our regularly scheduled, “hmm.”
“We are going to end things there, Dylan.” He had heard enough. We both know how this would continue to go.
“I don’t like to mince words. You failed.”
Am I the first boy (this was pre-girls in boy scouts days) to fail a Scoutmaster conference?
All those freezing-cold campouts at the B-52 for nothing?
Isn’t “Eagle Scout” supposed to go at the top of my resume for the rest of my career?
What woman will love me now?
If only they had let girls in sooner, I wouldn’t be doing any of this!
I went home detested with the Scouting program and ready to quit.
“I’m quitting Scouts,” I told my Dad.
“No son of mine is quitting Scouts!” he made clear. “You are going to study that handbook until you have it memorized. I’ll say it again, no son of mine is quitting Scouts!”
November 2017
I am a missionary and get an email from my younger brother, Cole.
“I just quit Scouts.”A redemption Scoutmaster conference was scheduled for the following Wednesday night. I spent the week studying the book, readying myself for a quiz from any random page he opened. I was prepared.
“Okay Dylan, I only failed you because I care about you, and I want you to learn to be prepared. One day you’ll be at your Eagle Board of Review and they will ask you all these same questions. Let’s try this again. You recently got your ‘Citizenship in the Community’ merit badge. Who is the mayor of Colorado Springs?”
The mayor?
That wasn’t in the handbook.
I thought long and hard. I did not spend a week studying only to fail again. All at once, the answer came to me!
“Dick Cheney.”
…
…
“Hmm.”
Six years later, I sat in a room at my Eagle Board of Review, confident I would now get the approval of my future father-in-law. I wore a suit, having long grown out of my original scouting uniform. I was one week removed from entering Basic Training at the Air Force Academy.
The board members seemed like Teletubbies compared to Brother Barton. Memories of 5 am roll call at Scout Camp, Wednesday night lectures on responsibility, and Bear Bryant quotes came over me. I had been prepared by the best in the business.
The board members asked who had the greatest influence on me as a scout. There was only one right answer. When the meeting proceeded to the quizzing of scout knowledge, the board members looked at me and said,
“You are going to the Air Force Academy! We don’t need to ask you any of this stuff!”
With a brief smirk, I sat back and said, “hmm.”
LFG
Tears of laughter! Every former Scout needs to read this!