Be Prepared

 I wasn't a good scout. I was a Cub Scout and that went pretty well overall, given that the tasks we were given to do were all pretty easy and I wasn't at all ambitious about achieving anything. When I moved up to the Webelos, things got worse. They made doing the tasks to earn little pins more of a focus. There were also five "Tommys" in my group which was weird. But the worst part was dreading the move to Boy Scout.

I kept hearing rumors about the things that happened when you became a Boy Scout. First off, there were camping trips. Ugh. I'll have to dedicate an entire post to camping, but suffice it to say that our family vacations were always spent crammed together in a camper because my cheap-ass father wouldn't spring for a fucking hotel room from time to time.

Anyway, the Boy Scouts supposedly had something called a jamboree and it sounded nothing like the jamboree of the country bear variety at Disney World. There were stories that all new scouts at these camping events got something called a "red belly" where older boys held you down and they all slapped your belly until it burned fire red. I already didn't like camping, but I was extra scared of hazing.

Hazing has always been a fear of mine. I expect that has something to do with the fact that I got hazed by my parents in some ways. I just always felt like if you were a noob, the existing members should welcome you and be nice to you. Unfortunately, that's not how the human animal works.

By the time I was a Webelo, I'd already been through several horrible bouts of noob-ness. My idiot father randomly decided to buy a small grocery store in his hometown and move us all there. That meant relocating to a new school - a plight which no one but me seemed to give a shit about. At no point did anyone try to ease this burden. 

My old school wasn't in a metropolis or anything, but moving to this dinky ass town and it's ancient school building (I still remember the creaky dark wood floors) felt like I'd gone back in time. Granted, I had a certain Sheldon Cooper-ness to me (I carried a briefcase to school), but these bumpkins were hostile. It's not like I had it much better in my old school. I remember venturing into the wrong wing when I was in the first grade and getting knocked down and walked on by the older kids. Literally walked on. Fun. But of course, the devil you know...

One of my most vivid memories was of taking an apple out of my briefcase at recess and being told that wasn't allowed. I was asked that evil question, "Do you have enough for everyone?" to which I'd like to think I answered "No, they have to bring their own," but I know I didn't. I was too stunned. I was always a rule follower because not following the rules in my house got you hit with a belt. When the teacher called me out on my apple, I felt so much fear, like I might get beaten. But it felt unjustified because this was some random new rule I'd never encountered before. It was like I was just supposed to know it without being told.

I hated that school. I don't remember ever making single friend there before my asshat father reneged on the deal to move there and dragged us back home. The problem was, he'd sold our fucking house so there was nowhere to move back to. We ended up in a new house in a new school district, so I changed schools twice in one quarter. It was horrible, and both times came with the trauma of trying to understand a new set of rules that weren't written down anywhere.

So, you can imagine my feelings when it came to being the noob in the Boy Scouts. I hung up my neckerchief after Webelos. It's been a pleasure watching that uber-Christian bullshit organization tank over the last decade or so. I know some boys got something out of it all, but I never did. Good riddance.