I was a Boy Scout for about a month.
Don’t remember any meetings. My Dad and I won the Father-Son Bowling tournament. I earned my “Picked up the 6-10 split” merit badge.
One night, while on a hayride, one of my fellow scouts mentioned a future activity with the troop to me. Before I could answer, the girl I was “going with” ridiculed him for being a Boy Scout. Thinking quickly, I kept my mouth shut. It may have been the last time (for either one).
As soon as I could, I turned in my brown shirt, red scarf and my official Scout Handbook. Or maybe I just didn’t go back. Can’t remember.
Looking back, scouting was probably a pretty good thing. You went camping and learned all sorts of things. I’ve been woefully unprepared for life in the great outdoors, maybe this would have helped. I don’t own a pocketknife. I never built a car for the Pinewood Derby. I never helped an old lady cross the street.
I could have been an Eagle Scout. Instead, I listened to a girl on a hayride.
The relationship was doomed from that point. It ended when I told her I was the President of my 4-H Club.
