MC Mark

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.