Blue and Gold

A couple weekends ago, Mark came to a bridge, and he crossed it.

It wasn't just any bridge--it was the bridge to Boy Scouts, where my little boy took one more giant leap toward growing up. My only consolation is that this activity still has the word "Boy" in it, so I can pretend for at least a few more years that he's still my little guy.

It was actually a two-night process. The first night, he and his Webelo patrol officially became Boy Scouts at the big pack meeting. As the younger scouts looked on, Mark and the other Webelos crossed over the bridge, and were met by Boy Scouts. The Scouts removed the Webelos' neckerchiefs, and replaced them with a spiffy new green Troop 120 neckerchief. As the crowd roared, the Webelos saluted and melted into the troop of Boy Scouts.

I walked Mark up to the stage, then watched him walk up the stairs alone. I'd like to say that when Mark's turn came, he addressed it with all the respect and dignity the moment deserved. But you know Mark, and as he always says, "That's not my style." Where most of the boys walked solemnly across (one boy even stopped mid-way to reflect on his experiences), Mark instead threw his arms in the air, raised the roof, and bobbed across the bridge. He nodded his head as though he were a rock star, which he kind of was, because everyone laughed. He loved it.

It was very sweet, poignant, and comical all at once, just like my kid. I started to get a little teary until Mark raced past me and my congratulatory hug, eager to get out to the customary post-meeting cookies and punch.

But the next night was the even bigger celebration--the Blue and Gold dinner. The boys crossed the bridge again, but this time they earned their Arrow of Light instead of a neckerchief.

To earn the Arrow of Light, Mark and his buddies completed numerous activities over the past two years. Mark learned all about first aid, showmanship, nature, woodworking, and properly using tools, just to name a few. He planned emergency escape routes and worked on a bike. He made a Pinewood Derby car and learned about computers.

The boys filled their Webelos ribbon with pins, offering up endless amusement to their parents as they did it. They rightfully earned their Arrows of Light, and we were all thrilled to celebrate!

My whole family came up to the dinner. They feasted on tacos, and congratulated Mark. Smed lectured Mark on wearing his uniform properly, and Scott teased him good-naturedly. My nieces and nephews ran wild with the Cub Scouts, chasing balloons through the gym.



My mom seemed pre-occupied with where she would sit, but I couldn't figure out why until she finally asked, "Where are they going to shoot the arrows?"

I pointed to the stage. "The man stands behind the boys and shoots the arrows into that haystack as they cross," I told her.

She immediately looked relieved. Turns out she thought the boys were going to shoot arrows through the gym. I assured her she was safe; the archer was a grown man with good aim.

At one point, Mark and his friend Kyler turned and ran from one end of the gym to the the other, weaving through the tables and zipping dangerously past diners shifting their plates out of the way. I was mortified, but also getting a cold, and couldn't yell at Mark to stop.

So I did what my mother would do...I shot him the evil eye, and willed him to stop running. And from across the gym, he felt that look boring into his back, because suddenly, he turned, stopped on a dime, and raised his hands up in his trademark "What?!?" gesture.

I pointed my index finger straight at him, then turned and waved it in a "come here RIGHT NOW" movement. And he did! He actually walked across the gym, head down, and apologized. Not only did he apologize, but Kyler came over and did, too! They walked away like the little gentlemen they are being trained to become, and I giggled to myself, then rushed off to tell my Mom I'd stopped Mark running from all the way across the gym--silently! She was so proud.

Then it was time for the ceremony to begin. Mark's patrol leader said some very nice words, congratulating the boys on their hard work. The boys all crossed the stage to light candles in the Arrow of Light symbol. The patrol leader called all the parents up on stage, to receive an Arrow of Light pin for our contributions (i.e., driving the boys to all the meetings). Mark whispered something frantically as I walked up, but I couldn't understand him. It sounded like "Grandma wouldn't even let me cough!" which didn't make much sense, since my mom was safely ensconced among all the other family members.

And then came the big moment. Each boy walked up to the microphone, and had his moment.

"My name is Mark, and I've earned the Arrow of Light," said one brown-haired little scout in glasses, of whom I am particularly fond. I'll admit, I teared up a bit at that, and even more so as he solemnly walked across the bridge. Behind him, the archer shot the arrow, and then Greg, the patrol leader, met Mark on the other side of the bridge, hand extended. They shook the secret Cub Scout handshake, smiled at me and my camera, and then Mark took his place with the other scouts. I was one proud mama.



The ceremony ended with the traditional candy lei, which the boys loved, and gift bags. Mark also received his arrow, and treated it with the utmost respect it commanded.



"I'm so proud of you!" I told him for the 720th time that night. "But I'm a little surprised you walked across the bridge so seriously."

"Grandma wouldn't let me!" he immediately shouted. "She was staring right at me, and she shook her finger right before I crossed. She shook it when I coughed, too--she wouldn't even let me cough!"

And suddenly, I understood what he was trying to tell me on stage. My mom is a super-proud, super-loving grandma, but she doesn't tolerate misbehaving children. I bit my tongue, stifling a giggle, and realized the apple didn't fall far from the matriarchal tree in our family.

Before I could even get back to the table, the massive cakes had been cut and doled out. All the children except Gabi were covered in frosting and chasing the balloons even more frantically. They were riding a serious sugar high.

So we packed up our stuff, and I bid Pack 206 a sad farewell. I'm not too sad, because I know I'll see most of the parents at Boy Scouts, as their boys move up. But still, Mark spent three fun years with the pack, and he loved every minute of it.



But as they say, onwards and upwards. Mark's thrilled to be a Boy Scout. "Now we aren't gonna the big kids in the pack anymore," he told me. "Now I'm just gonna be a little fish in the big pond."

But he smiled when he said it, and I knew it didn't bother him the least bit.

Painting the town...

In my younger days, I used to paint the town red. This weekend, I painted it blue and gold instead.

Hollywood is mere miles away, and currently in the middle of its awards ceremony season. And though my ZIP code is not 90210, I dressed up my favorite little man Saturday night and hit the scene. We attended an exclusive awards ceremony which, like the Golden Globes and Oscars, included a fine dinner. It also included paparazzi, who ushered us toward the wall for photos upon arrival.





The venue was a bit smaller and more humble than the Kodak Theatre, however. (It was the gymnasium of a local church.) The dress was more plaid neckerchief than black tie, but the night's honorees were as proud as any Oscar winner, and their parents were even prouder.

This swanky soiree is also known as the Blue and Gold dinner, where the second-year Webelos bridge over from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. It's a big d e a l for the Scouts and their families. If you think it doesn't sound all that exciting, just sit back -- I haven't even mentioned the flying arrows yet.

I was excited to attend the dinner. Because it included both dinner and a show, it totally counted as a night out on the town.

Mark was duly warned to behave, but apparently, I was speaking in tongues when I warned him. We'd been there for all of five minutes when I noticed him running wildly between the tables.

I caught him and set the perimeter. He was allowed to play at the back of the gym, where there were toys and games set out to do so. He nodded his head, as though agreeing to this plan, and I resumed my conversation with the other moms.

Not two seconds later, I turned to see my wild banshee son running along the back of the gym, clutching what moments before had been the backdrop for the family portraits. He had pried loose the weights along the bottom, and was waving a fistful of blue and gold balloons all around.

I was mortified, and hissed, "MARK!!!!"

He stopped short, terrified. He immediately let go of the balloons, and before I could scream "Noooo!" like a slow-motion movie sequence, they were gone. I watched them sail up toward the ceiling, and then fixed my sights back on Mark.

"What?" he asked, hands out to his side. "I didn't mean to."

I was going to ask what he didn't mean to do: steal the balloons in the first place, or set them free. Then I decided it didn't really matter.

"Behave!" I repeated. "Next time I talk to you, you will sit with me."

And before I could act on it, he was gone.

Next up was dinner, and then the main event. We watched a slide show of the second-year Webelos, and heard some very touching speeches from the families. The Scouts waited anxiously until it was their turn, and then each Scout walked up onto the stage.

"My name is ..." each boy said. "And I earned the Arrow of Light."

The auditorium then erupted into applause, and a man onstage shot an arrow into a haystack while the boy walked across a wooden bridge to become a Boy Scout. It was a really nice moment.

Unless you happened to be a first-year Webelo. Like Mark, who was sitting on the bleachers with the other boys from his den. I'm happy to report they were not misbehaving, but they weren't exactly paying attention, either. When I asked Mark later how cool those arrows were flying across the stage, he asked, "What arrows?"

They were paying attention to a couple of nearby little girls, however. The girls were very sweetly playing with their toy babies, putting them in their cradles and dressing them up. The boys were whispering, pointing and staring intently, and I began to fear for those little dolls.

Luckily, Mark glanced over at me just then, and I gave him the fingers-to-eyes-to-Mark "I'm watching you" gesture. He tapped his fellow Scouts and they moved up and away on the bleachers. The dolls were safe, for the moment at least.

Next up was cake. Mark returned with an enormous piece atop a glob of pudding. He was flying on a sugar buzz soon enough.

Our role as first-year Webelos families was to clean up after the party. So once the awards were given, and cakes consumed, we swooped in to start cleaning. Scout families are an industrious group, and I am amazed at how quickly the metal chairs were folded up, and the tables broken down and put away.

I called out to Mark, who was running around the gym all sweaty in a sugar-induced frenzy. We packed up our stuff and headed home. Until next year, I thought, when it's Mark's turn to become a Boy Scout, and my turn to be the proud, weepy Mom cheering him on.

But I guess we'll just cross that bridge when we get there.