Edited by Bryan Wendell
Can you dig it?
Last October, in keeping with Halloween, I planned to have our den tour some local historic graveyards. I told the boys that we would do some grave rubbing for the Artist badge.
As the day came near, none of the boys seemed interested in going. But they didn’t tell me why. Thinking that they didn’t want to go so close to Halloween, I changed the date to mid-November but still got no interest.
Finally, I asked my Webelos Scout son why the other boys were reluctant to go on the tour. I broke into laughter when I heard the answer: They thought I was going to take them grave “robbing,” and they were all scared.
Once they found out that they would be “rubbing” graves with wax, instead of robbing them, they were all happy to go.
One can make all the difference
I was minding the garage sale one summer when something caught my eye. Sitting in a pile of shirts marked $1 each was what looked to be a small American flag. But I looked closer.
The flag was attached, barely, to my old Cubmaster shirt. Seeing that tattered uniform brought back memories of blue and gold banquets, Memorial Day parades, and father-son nights at the ballpark. I’m 57 now and battling cancer.
As I look at the shirt I wonder if I made a difference while wearing it. I hope I did.
But I’m jolted back to reality when a boy approaches me with something in his hands.
A lump forms in my throat as he hands me my old pinewood derby car with the No. 1 on the hood and asks “How much is this, mister?” I regain my composure and ask him, “Will you take good care of this car? It’s a special car.”
He holds up two fingers and says, “I promise, Scout’s honor.”
“Then for you, young man, the car is free.” As he leaves, I realize that in my Scouting career I have made a difference for at least one boy, and that’s what matters.
I was with a group of Webelos Scouts at Stearns Scout Camp in Minnesota ending a four-day Webelos Camp. We had a great few days with the usual bickering about the various duties assigned on the roster.
Cubmaster Pete was gathering a group of boys for the last jobs to be done before we could check out of camp. The boys were very tired so we expected and received the moans and groans of various jobs.
But when we asked for a volunteer for latrine duty, a very enthusiastic voice said “I want to do that!”
Obviously surprised, I proceeded to get the mop and bucket to give to the boy. As we walked, he stopped to ask: “Where is the train? Aren’t we going to clean a train?”
I realized he hadn’t heard the word “latrine” before and explained it to him.