Betrayed by the BSA

The Reason Being blog is coordinating a set of blog posts about the Boy Scouts of America today. See their site for more posts. This contribution comes from my husband, Ben, who used to feel bad that he’d stopped short of becoming an Eagle scout. He doesn’t feel that way anymore.

“On my honor, I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.” — The Scout Oath

My years in Boy Scouts are full of fond memories. My troop used to go camping every month at various state parks and Scout camps, and we had a few trips each winter where we stayed in a wood-heated cabin instead of tents. We learned that you didn’t need to wear a jacket to cut and split wood even if it was really cold outside. And we learned that mittens left on a Franklin stove can get way too hot before they actually dry.

Every summer, we’d make the trip to Tomahawk Scout Camp for a week-long equivalent of summer camp, but with only boys and in two-man canvas tents with cots and mosquito netting instead of in cabins in the woods. We learned that some fungus glows in the dark and that throwing a can of mosquito spray in a campfire isn’t as impressive as we thought it would be.

There was enough pyromania to keep us warm and dry. We learned valuable skills like cooking breakfast and washing dishes and building shelters and climbing bluffs and tying knots and improvising bandages and remembering to bring bandages next time. Continue reading “Betrayed by the BSA”

Betrayed by the BSA
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Saturday Storytime: The Key to Everything

Nina Kiriki Hoffman is one of those writers who isn’t supposed to exist. She both writes highly commercial contract fiction and wins awards for her novels. But it’s always funny where a job can take you.

My special talent was pissing people off. That wasn’t the technical term for it, but that was what I was good at. You would think there wouldn’t be much demand for this talent. That would be you, wrong again.

On a station like Confetti, where three different alien-to-each-other races came to celebrate their very varied holidays and religious rites, there was a lot of bumping into each other’s sore spots. People in the service industries needed to be difficult to irritate. If an administrator wanted to test an employee’s capacity to suck up the pain and keep on smiling, hey, enter me.

I dressed in my best I’m-not-going-to-be-here-long-enough-to-take-my-consequences tourist garb, and went to my next job.

The Rikrik were about to arrive in masses for Recombo Night. I went to the Lerva Bar, a place that specialized in Rikrik beverages, comestibles, and behavior-cushioning. Bypassing the hostess, who would have led me into the human section, I went right up to the serving platform, though Rikrik custom dictated that patrons, both human and Rikrik, be led to an exchange nest and wait for a server to approach. A server would only approach when every Rikrik in a nest raised the topmost appendage in unison or when every human in a party did the same.

The bartender didn’t flinch or otherwise indicate that she had noticed my bad behavior. I asked her to make me a fruit squash, and she whipped one up and presented it with a smile.

I sipped and grimaced. “This tastes too distil,” I whined. “I want the color a bluer green. The ploorberries are too ripe. Do it over.”

Keep reading.

Saturday Storytime: The Key to Everything