Stories from another time and place to make you think, laugh, and possibly shed a tear. I know I did, but for me the stories are personal. This is for those who can appreciate the insanity of the world I was raised in.
One should never judge the...
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"Chicken-crap." It was Kent and he was right up in my face.
It was my first summer at Boy Scout camp. I was about thirteen years old and had recently been elected Senior Patrol Leader of my troop. It was a position I neither sought nor expected to get, but that is another story I will get to later. This memoir is going to bounce around in time like a defective Tardis in an anniversary episode of Doctor Who; so, buckle up. Themes rather than chronology are the focus.
Senior Patrol Leader is one of those figure head positions with no real authority, unenforceable responsibilities, and for no reason I can explain a position that Kent believed made me fair game for his derisive comments.
The scout camp was in an idyllic setting called Cedar Valley. I was walking by myself along one of the main dirt paths between camp sites taking in the Arcadian ambiance and the nuances of nature, the cedar scented air, the cacophony of creation, the mocking of mocking birds and the ridicule of rascals like Kent. He and two other members of my troop were coming from the latrine where they no doubt had been harassing other campers pointing out the supposed short comings of their manhood.
The latrine was in fact where I was headed. Fortunately, there was no urgency because it was Kent's intent to delay me.
To impress his cohorts, Kent had gotten right in my face and informed me I was "chicken-crap" and that he was going to beat the "tar" out of me. He used slightly more vulgar terms. I informed him I had no intention of fighting him. My response was not so much because I thought fighting was an inappropriate activity for the Senior Patrol Leader to engage in, but mainly because I didn't like inflicting pain and especially didn't like having it inflicted on me.
Kent on the other hand had no such reservations; so, he began slugging. Fortunately, at that age I was taller and a bit larger than most of my contemporaries. I had learned to use my size to take attackers down to the ground and hold them there until they submitted. This is what I quickly did to Kent, sitting on his chest and pinning his arms to the ground. The problem was that despite being held to the ground, Kent would not admit defeat and every time I let go of his arms, he began punching again. Did I mention that I don't enjoy being punched? But I also don't enjoy punching so we were at an impasse.
I thought the solution to my problem had arrived when two adult scout leaders came walking by. I got their attention and explained my dilemma to them. They assessed the situation and said chuckling, "Looks like you have everything under control." Then to my dismay they walked away.
When the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight realized I wasn't going to punch Kent, they began to disperse. Even Kent's cohorts who I honestly think had just been hanging around hoping to see Kent get the tar beaten out of him got bored and left with the rest. I too was getting bored and needed to pee. I considered letting go of Kent's wrists and moving my knees up to hold his arms down. I could then begin pounding on his face in the hope he might learn something, but I was pretty sure he was unteachable, and despite his being an ass, I just wasn't that angry at him. In fact, I was angrier at the scout leaders who I felt should have been the ones educating Kent.
Finally, I decided to hell with it. Without the crowd to show off for, what glory could there possibly be for Kent to start punching on me again? I found out. When I got off of Kent and helped him get up, he promptly punched me twice in the face. My "glass jaw" shattered. At least that is what it felt like. It hurt, but there was no way I was going to let Kent know that. I just glared at him and said, "Are we done now? I have to piss."
Once more, Kent called me "chicken-crap." Having satisfied his ego and not wanting to be pinned down in the dirt again or possibly worse, he went off to tell everyone how he'd beat the tar out of me. I doubt anyone believed him since the last they'd seen he was the one being held down on the ground.
What I learned from all this is sometimes you just have to give a guy a way to save face. Kent needed the ego boost more than I. It is usually more important how people come away feeling than who comes away with the credit for something. Or as Harry Truman said, "It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit." Ironically, this quote is credited to numerous individuals from a Jesuit priest named Father Strickland in 1863 to Bob Woodruff, Coca Cola CEO 1926 -1954 to Ronald Reagan and dozens of others, but does it really matter? Let those who need the ego boost have the credit. Feelings are more important.
I also learned that authority figures, particularly adult scoutmasters, are not to be depended upon. (Ironically, I became an adult leader of my son's cub scout pack for a year. By then, it was the national organization that I realized was undependable and apparently it has gone continually downhill ever since. It is a shame because in theory and early practice, the Boy Scouts were a very noble and worthwhile organization.) Unfortunately, crap happens.
