Boy Scouting

I said a few weeks ago that I was volunteering with the Boy Scouts, so here’s the story on that and my thoughts about the organization.

I don’t particularly like what the Boy Scouts stand for, I don’t like that the Federal Government gives them free perks and special facilitations, and I don’t like that it’s basically turned into the same thing the Hitler Youth was, except for Christianism instead of Nazism. I don’t like they are allowed to discriminate based on gender, religion, and sexual preference.
Honestly I think the organization, as a whole, is horrible and I would never want my (hypothetical) children to be scouts. And I’m pretty certain that will ensure they don’t invite me back next year, haha.
Anyway, my fiance has volunteered at the local week-long Summer Day Camp for the past decade, maybe longer. And this year she was given the position of Program Director. Kind of like the camp’s second-in-command.
That being the case, she has been convincing me to volunteer at the camp for the last 3 years. The first year I was a part-time gofer and messenger. Last year when she was the Director of Projects (projects is a fancy term they use for “crafts”) I was her assistant.
This year I was kind of an interim director. I ran the Nature and Skills departments for a day, each. Then I acted as Range Master for the archery range the last 3 days.
BTW, 7 bulls-eyes, in case you were wondering whether or not I was qualified to teach kids how to shoot bows.

That being said, why do I let my fiance drag me to do this?

For the kids!

God, I hate children…I can’t stand to be around children.  Especially elementary-aged children and kids who are younger than that.  Now someone please explain to me why I care so much about these kids?  They aren’t unusually well-behaved, they aren’t unusually brilliant or dedicated, and many of them have parents that I’d like to take out behind a shed and beat with a hose!  But when the kids ask a serious question or when they look up at me with awe and beam at my compliments of their lackluster skill, I just can’t help but feel happy around them.

Every time one of them got a bulls-eye, I felt genuine pride in my abilities as a Range Master.  I know as well as they do that it was probably a fluke.  He missed the target with the other four arrows, of course it was just a lucky shot!  But even so, he beams with pride at his achievement and I beam with pride as his Range Master.  What the hell did I do?  I handed him a five-dollar plastic bow with duct tape on the handle and a bent arrow that’s missing one of the fletchings.  All I did was tell him when he could start shooting and tell him when to stop and go get his arrows.

And on the last day when two of the kids came up to me and asked if they could get their picture taken with me?  I felt amazing!  I see why people feel happy with well-behaved, productive children!

I still don’t want any, though and no I’m not willing to watch yours.  Back the hell off, I still can’t stand children the other 51 weeks of the year!  I save up all my children-liking for that one week every year.



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