LGBT, Gay, Writing, Poetry, Journal, Snark

Posts tagged ‘boy scouts’

Another Boy Scout Fiasco

I hated the Boy Scouts. Utterly. Sure, I said it already before. It bears repeating. I was 15 and stuck being Senior Patrol Leader. Didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it and got told, “Tough, you’re it.” by my step-father and the Scoutmaster. No one else had the required rank or age at that point in time and it was time to shift to someone else. I balked, naturally. For all the good it did me.

We were meeting at some elementary school or another. Don’t remember the name of the place. I do remember that Melissa was with us on one particular night. She was probably 7 or 8. My memory is getting fuzzy with age. But not about what happened.

She had gone to the girl’s bathroom, as is only natural, her being a girl and all. Next thing I knew, a couple of the younger boys were screwing around in there. I was livid! Someone told me what was up and I roared down the hallway to rescue my little sister from the idiots. Someone held open the bathroom door and I grabbed the first one by the collar and hauled him out. I had wrapped my left hand around the doorjamb to get better leverage for pulling a struggling buffoon out of the girl’s restroom. Tossed him to the side and snagged the second baboon. Melissa came out, a bit shaken but ok.

The guy holding the door let go. Didn’t think anything of it until I tried to walk away. Didn’t go far. My hand was caught. I noticed when I suddenly couldn’t go any further and momentum swung me around to face the very disturbing sight of my fingers disappearing into the space between door and wall. Check that. The non-existent space. I cursed under my breath and opened to the door to release my fingers. It took the skin off the back of my middle, ring and littlest fingers. That is when actual pain happened.

My temper went off like a nuclear detonation at that point. I was in full red-out rage. The pain was intense. Bones are not meant to be compressed like that and having your skin come off isn’t a barrel of monkeys either. I stomped into the cafeteria, swearing fit to blister paint. I took a run at the wall and kicked. The hole I made was impressive.

My stepfather finally got a hold of me and then he saw my hand. I told him what had happened. He took me to Urgent Care immediately. That was another delightful period of time once I got in to a doctor. He looked my hand over carefully and sighed. Blood was coming up under the nails of two fingers and had to be released. Which meant burning a hole down to the nail bed. Fun!

Four shots of Novocain later and he started. Guess what? I could still feel it. And it f-ing HURT. My fingers ended up in those silly metal braces to try to protect them from getting banged around when I moved. The nails turned a deep purple then black over the next couple of days, preparing for peeling off.

Needless to say, the ‘boys’ were extremely careful around my sister from that point and with me. Don’t argue with bathroom doors… they’ll always win, one way or another.


Trying out new things… here’s a memory to start off with.

I hated the Boy Scouts. At least by the time I hit high school I did. I was forced into a leadership position I didn’t want and didn’t like. The position of Senior Patrol Leader for the Troop seemed like a horrible excuse to have a target painted on your back. Everything that went wrong was always your fault and the other kids always came up with new and interesting trouble to get into for the parents to blame on me. Just a lovely way to spend my oh so plentiful spare time…

One of those herding maneuvers that got pulled on me by the ’adult’ leaders was getting sucked into the Order of the Arrow. It was supposed to be a subgroup that a guy is voted into and there had to be at least two qualified people to vote for or against. I was it. There wasn’t another guy. I certainly didn’t campaign for entry into that farce of an extension. I frankly wasn’t interested. Sure, it was the year of the Boy Scout’s Diamond Jubilee. Oh joy. And we got tapped out in a ceremony at the regional camping event for most of two counties. Gosh, golly.

I remember just being tired. Riding herd on the younger troop members all day and then getting stuck with that ceremonial farce. It didn’t do anything for me. It didn’t make me feel special. I wasn’t thrilled or excited. I was just tired and wanted to sleep. Naturally, they wanted us awake for the night. Again I say, joy.

A couple months later made up for it a little. Those of us tapped at the regional ceremony needed to participate in an Ordeal. We spent the weekend cleaning some campground with all of those that were tapped at the same time. Yawn. Oh and we had to do it all in complete silence. Not too much of an issue for me, in my anti-social mode, that was a blessing.

It gave me plenty of opportunity to ogle guys in perfect safety. After all, you need to pay attention pretty closely when using nonverbal communication to get things done. This one guy really caught my attention. Gorgeous, simply stunningly sexy hot. And assigned to the same crew I was. It made up for having to put up with all of the rest of it. This guy could have gone on to be an underwear model easily… for designer stuff, not JC Pennys. We clicked pretty well, staying near each other that whole day.

The clincher for me, and I still have it tucked away, were the nasty, naughty notes we passed back and forth when we were supposed to be listening to lengthy lectures on Scouting. Extremely provocative notes. To some degree, hazing each other in that young male exerting manhood by bullshit and name-calling way. Being called a cocksucker on paper didn’t phaze me in the least. Nor did the things I said he did cause him to so much as blink. The object was to get one of us to break that stupid silence. Neither of us did, though we went back and forth for a good hour and at least both sides of two pieces of paper.

I admit it, I had a total lusting crush on him by the end of the day. Our banter, nasty as it was, turned me on. And all without an actual word said. All of this happening right under the nose of the adults. They were totally oblivious. Frankly, so were we. Our focus was entirely on each other. Everything else just kind of faded into the background. The day ended, more ceremonial crap and then sleep. We took off for home the next morning.

I didn’t get his phone number or name or even troop number. I never got to see him again. But I also will never forget him. Nor will I throw away the notes we wrote each other. I don’t think he realized that I didn’t throw them away. Easy enough to slip them in my back pocket after carefully folding them. They are just the nasty crap teenage boys say to each other when trying for shock value… but they went a little different direction for me. It was my first experience at flirting. And I loved it!