Last weekend, Mark's Scout troop held their Court of Honor, celebrating rank advancements and earned merit badges. It's hosted by the boys, which is always entertaining.
This time, it was Mark's turn to MC. He and his three co-hosts rocked it!
I was worried about his performance. Not because he's afraid of public speaking, but because he's not. Mark's not shy AT ALL--just ask anyone who's watched him swagger onstage at a school or Scout event, arms raised victoriously above his head, winking and pointing at people in the seats. He's a born showman, who loves an audience and a chance to make them laugh.
What he's not good at is preparation. I reminded him the Court of Honor is a serious, structured event, and troop leaders expect reverence, not improv. They wanted Mark and the other boys to show up prepared. I broke into a nervous sweat just contemplating that when Mark volunteered.
Turns out, I didn't need to worry. Like my friend Frankie says, "Everything always works out for Mark."
He did an awesome job onstage, speaking in a loud, clear voice. He knew his lines and executed them perfectly. His biggest issue was purely physical--the podium was nearly as tall as him, so you could only see the top of his head (even on his tippy-toes!).
The funniest part was during the raffle. The boys stood somberly onstage, explaining the rules.
"We will call the last three numbers on the ticket," they said. "If we call your number, go to the back of the room to collect your prize. Please have your tickets ready."
One boy cleared his throat, then called the first number, while the other three boys scanned the room for the winner.
"4-5-0," the MC said, and suddenly, Mark screamed.
"That's me!" he shouted, instantly turning from serious MC to excited young boy. "Woo hoo!"
He literally jumped off the stage, and ran as fast as he could toward the prizes, the whole room cracking up at him.
The other MCs called out more numbers, and the reactions were similar to Mark's. I don't think the boys realize there's a prize for each Scout--I love watching the unbridled excitement and surprise when their numbers are called.
Mark was thrilled to be the first winner, since he got to pick first from all the prizes. It's all camping gear, and Mark always goes for the sharpest, shiniest thing available. Last year, he picked a serrated wire to use as a camp saw. This year, he picked out another beauty:
Seriously, who thinks that's a good prize for a 13-year-old kid??? That is a prime example of how differently Scout moms and dads think (no mom would ever offer a knife as a prize!).
The knife pretty much killed all Mark's remaining interest in the Court of Honor. He returned to the table with his new toy, and immediately tried prying the plastic open with a butter knife. Mark couldn't wait to get that knife out and cut himself.
"Not now, Mark," I hissed. We were sitting at a front table--I didn't want all the Scout families to watch him slice his finger off before we even got to dessert.
Mark sighed and put it down. He completely ignored the other MCs, instead running his fingers over the package. He couldn't believe his good/bad luck--he won the shiniest prize of all, but had a buzzkill mom who wouldn't let him show it off.
Finally, new ranks and badges collected, Mark closed out the ceremony. He thanked everyone for coming to the winter Court of Honor (we'll review the seasons later, since this was actually September), and called the Chaplain's Aide to end with a prayer.
I thought Mark was anxious to get home because he was tired, but I should've known better. He ran for the scissors before I'd even stepped in the door. I again warned him to be careful.
"Why don't you trust me, mom?" he asked.
"Because this is how you look when you're holding that knife," I answered. "Like a little psycho."
"I'm like a baby Dexter," he laughed, and suddenly, I realized I wouldn't sleep at all that night.
Neither of us could figure out how to actually close the blade. There was a trigger inside the handle, in the perfect position to slice your finger when the blade closed.
"Let's ask Uncle Brad about this," I said, stashing away the open blade. Mark agreed that was a good idea. My brother Brad agreed even more when I texted him a picture and asked how to work the damn thing.
"Leave it alone and I'll show you how to close it," he texted back, validating my fear that Mark wasn't the only one in danger of losing a finger.
And so I did leave it alone. I put away the knife, and instead focused on Mark's success. He did a great job working with the other MCs on a script, and kept the ceremony running smoothly. And, as an added bonus, he had a bagful of new merit badges--eight!--that he earned over the summer.
Inappropriate Dexter jokes aside, I'm really proud of my super Scout.
Last week was the big Court of Honor for Mark's Boy Scout troop. They have three a year, but this was the formal one after summer, when the boys work hard to rank up and earn merit badges.
The boys are supposed to look their best, wearing their Class A uniforms, including the sashes with all their merit badges sewn on. Apparently, none of Uncle Brad's two-hour lectures about tucking in your shirt or looking your best have stuck, because Mark looked like a hot mess. His shirt was untucked, his sash kept falling down, and his neckerchief was rolled up too high and flapping around at his neck. At one point, he was asking the troop leader a question, and I could Mr. Lane's hand instinctively straightening Mark's sash and neckerchief. I just sighed.
Mark's patrol was selected for the color guard, and did a great job. Mark carried out and presented the troop flag. He treated his task quite seriously, ensuring the flag was perfectly straight.
There was a slide show running on a big screen throughout the ceremony. My favorite picture was of the boys who went on the Sequoia camping trip this summer. The boys and leaders were huddled into a big ball of smiling, happy Scouts, goofing for the camera. In the background was a small speck, but I couldn't tell what it was. Luckily, someone circled the specked and added a very simple label: "Bear!"
And it was that very moment I vowed Mark would never camp again! (Well, maybe not in bear country...which happens to be all of California...so maybe he can camp at the beach...no, let's just be safe and keep it at NOWHERE. NO TIME. EVER. AGAIN.)
The boys had their own tables--I'm not sure if this was by their choice, or the parents' choice, but it worked out well for all of us. It was fun to sit with my friends and not next to a squirrelly boy.
The table decorations consisted of small wooden statues fashioned into the Scout hand sign, and mini Snickers bars strewn about. I wandered by Mark's table a few times, silently moving my fingers over an imaginary device. This is our shorthand sign for "Did you bolus?" and Mark's response is always the same--a confident, annoyed nod, as though he had indeed taken care of it, and then a frantic scrambling to pull the insulin pump out of his pocket and really bolus.
Dinner was actually pretty good, even if Mark had a hard time sitting through it. He kept running around the room, getting in to whatever he could. As I was returning to my seat, I heard him yell, "They took my plate again? That's the third time!" Apparently, Mark couldn't sit still long enough to eat his dinner, was keeping the kitchen busy washing all his dishes!
There was a raffle during the ceremony, and every Scout won a prize, which they immediately took to the table, opened up, and started using on each other. This wouldn't be a big deal at most kid's raffles, where the prizes are harmless, but this is the Scouts. Mark won an outdoor camping saw made of a thin, serrated wire with handles at each end (the perfect tool for a serial killer). And indeed, Mark was wielding it like a serial killer. He was also trying to saw everything in sight, including other kids' arms. I was appalled, and only a little less so when I saw another kid with the same prize doing the same thing. The rest of the boys were using their outdoor camping gear prizes to irritate one another, in the way only rowdy, hyper boys can do. One boy, who'd won a compass, realized his prize was worthless in this department, and just resorted to punching the boy next to him.
I fought every maternal instinct I had to scream, "What are you boys, CRAZY?" Instead, I zipped my lip, and walked away. (But only after I made sure no one was being choked by a camping saw.)
Then it was on to the awards. The boys who'd earned merit badges during the summer were called up to receive them. Most boys went up to Scout camp or the local Sea Base camp to earn their badges. Mark, who spent five weeks of his summer at Sea Base, brought home a whole bag of badges--15 in all! I was super proud and a little guilty at how much work he'd done. (I didn't realize how much work those badges involved--at one point, Mark was grousing about how he felt like he was in summer school. To which I answered, "You're welcome! Your school smarts aren't withering and atrophying over the summer.")
The parents lined the walls like paparazzi, waiting to photograph their boys. But the boys have short attention spans, so it was like a game, seeing how fast you could get off a shot or two before the kids escaped the stage.
I actually got a pretty decent shot, considering this was last year's proud moment:
Well, at least his shirt was tucked in then.
Mark also earned another rank, moving up to Second Class Scout. He earned a spiffy new badge for that as well.
Somehow, I missed that there was a giant cake for dessert. I found out when my diabetic son (who'd also gorged on the mini Snickers) appeared at my table, frosting smeared across his darling little face, and dumped something into my lap. Turns out it was his disconnected insulin pump.
"My site came out," Mark said, brushing away cake crumbs. "So here's my pump."
Mark was not at all concerned that he was no longer receiving any insulin. But this is my worst nightmare, especially since I never carry around extra supplies. (Note to self: Start carrying around extra supplies. Especially to Boy Scout events, since their motto is "Be Prepared.") But it turned out to be the best worst case scenario, since we were only a mile from home, and the ceremony was ending.
There was, however, one last raffle left, with two winners. Two boys would take home gigantic fancy fishing poles. The first winner was Mark's friend Josh, who was so excited, he leaped up from the table screaming, "It's me, it's ME!" He immediately ran to the stage, while the troop leader said into the microphone, "Josh, the pole is in the BACK of the room! Go to the back, Josh!" Josh turned, ran to the side of the room, made a left, ran the perimeter of the room, and finally made it to the back to claim his prize. It was hilarious.
The next boy who won was Calvin, who'd been the boy leader of the troop until just recently. He'd just earned his Eagle award, and was equally thrilled to win a fishing pole. When they called his name, he jumped straight up on his chair a la Tom Cruise, and hefted his arms into the air victoriously, screaming, "YESSSSSSSSS!" Also hilarious.
And with that, the dinner ended. I collected up my scattered, tired, and inexplicably sweaty kid, and all of his badges. With all those badges, I see a lot of sewing in our future (well, maybe Auntie Michelle's future?? ;-). Mark may not have been the picture of comportment at the dinner that night, but he'd worked hard all summer, and boy, was I ever proud of my Scout!
