53° and Patchy rain nearby
I was often lost in the clouds as a child, climbing trees, dreaming, imagining, always looking for mischief, mostly harmless.
Boy Scouts have gone through tough times in recent years with participation dwindling and a massive financial crisis caused by mishandling leaders who abuse kids. They have renamed it Scouting America but it may be lipstick on a pig.
Still, while my dad busted his butt in my adolescent years to raise 5 sons on one income with the help of my mother, Scouts became a sort of “safe space” for me. Dad modeled hard work as a father but thrived as Papa to our sons even if he did die at 68 from lung cancer, the wages of a habit he never kicked.
As a Scout, I cared mostly about camping – getting out to Schoellkopf. Our Troop 267 met at the Millgrove Fire Hall. There were adult leaders, first Bill Dabb Sr., a junkman with a long beard and a kind smile. Mr. Buczak was there too.
Finally, there was Arnie Rein. He was single, a middle-aged loner who lived in his mother’s house. If you didn’t know him, he would have seemed creepy but he was harmless.
I never cared for advancement. If I could learn to build a fire and cook over it, tie a tautline hitch and a sheepshank, and get lost with my buddies in the North woods of Schoellkopf it was enough for me.
That’s the thing about those dads who served out Troop. They let us be boys and have fun. If they had pushed me, I would have walked away.
I didn’t want that structure even as I learned skills, values and how to forge relationships and be part of a team.
I made it back to Scouts with our sons, first Cubs, then Troop 93 with Beth's help. Joe took to it. He did what was asked, grew quietly through the ranks, under the radar until the boys elected him senior patrol leader to the surprise of the adult leadership. He answered to his peers, not his parents or the other adults. He continued through Eagle.
When it came time for his Eagle project, he wrote a proposal, approached the Clarence Hollow Association, got paint donated for the decks and fencing, presented it to adult leadership, got it approved at council and then told me what two weekends his project would be, letting me know he'd need to borrow my truck. In an Eagle factory filled with helicopter parents manipulating marionettes it was refreshing. He would not have it any other way.
Ben was a bit more like me, rather disinterested unless it was fun. Eventually, the Troop hosted a martial arts demonstration. He was hooked and participated in Krav Maga all the way through high school.
All this reminiscence leads me to the conclusion there is more than one right answer, and whether you lead by example, as my dad did, or by being invested in an organization like Scouting, every child is different, and needs their own path, no matter what that might be. Happy Fathers Day.
Oh and one other thing: most of the time, no matter the circumstance, we couldn’t be the fathers we are without the mothers who help, love and support. I enjoyed Heather Cox-Richardson today but it doesn't relate to my story.
