Tormented By a Picture

For the past 19 years my mother has proudly displayed a picture of a Boy Scout on her walls. To her the picture represents the years of hard work she put in to cajole, prod, nag and push her son to earn his Eagle.

To me that picture obliterates every good memory of scouting and also calls into question the positive memories of my teenage years.

When I posed for that picture I was an obviously awkward young man of 15 years. But insult to injury was my fine choice of eyewear. My father had convinced me to adopt the latest craze of the late 70's and early 80's - lenses that automatically shaded when exposed to sunlight. So there I sat with about a pound of glass hanging on my nose, with the ever present half-shading of the lenses, even indoors.

At the time I was oblivious to it all. I must have been, I was smiling.


But the trauma of seeing that picture over and over and over has been long lasting. Since that day I have not donned a scout uniform, even though several times over the years I have worked with youth involved in scouting.

That is until last Saturday.

I was finally forced to face my demons and dress myself once again in the vestibules of Bayden-Powell's vision that began in 1907.

As I looked at myself in the mirror in my crisp new uniform, and sans glasses, I wasn't thinking of that dreaded picture snapped long ago. Actually I thought I looked pretty good, or at least better than many scout leaders I know.

So when Mindy came into the room I blurted out:

"So how do you like your man in uniform?"

Her response?

"Yeah doesn't really do it for me."

Shot down by my one true love.

In that brief moment Mindy held in her hand one of those once-in-a-lifetime chances to erase years of psychological damage and buoy up the self-esteem of a struggling soul.

Now all I see in the mirror is that 15 year old boy staring back at me!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!