Boy Scout oppression

One of the comments I got from yesterday's post was from my brother, who reminded me of a particularly mean streak that transpired on our annual 50-mile hike in the Idaho wilderness. I'll preface this with a reminder that the façade of "boy scouts is the crucible where good, upstanding, wholesome men are created" covers up the true story of oppression, ostracization, and class warfare. And while I'd like to say that I was above such things, the sad truth is I often lead the pack in terms of quashing any self-esteem of the boys who likely were in most need of it. It was amazing how quickly things could degenerate into a Lord of the Flies scenario--which doesn't bode too well about the future of modern civilization. In my defense, though, I had been trained for the role since growing up with my family, we'd honed our sarcasm and mockery skills to such a sharp degree that using them against the more socially inexperienced scouts was literally having a battle of wits against unarmed men.

Ok, that's the preface to this story... I just wanted to set up the image for you, because I was young and my moral compass was still easily moved by the magnetic field of social power--that's not a problem anymore, since I've ditched the moral compass for a much cooler GPS system that can show me where the nearest Taco Bell is. Anyway, back to the 50-miler.

One of the kids in our troop was desperate for acceptance (a sure recipe for disaster, as he was willing to do anything to please or for attention (he WAS the oldest of THIRTEEN kids, so I don't know how much attention he got from his family)--gad, I feel terrible just writing this). We'll call him Donl (pronounced Don-el), because that was his name. Ah, the stories I could tell about how he was tortured, but this story is about how he got the nickname "sphincter." Our troop's version of a 50-miler was to hike to a hot springs about 10 miles from the trailhead and set up a base camp there. Then, on the subseqent 3 days, we'd just do 10-mile day hikes and return to the spa-like base camp where we could soak away the soreness brought on by moseying around in the forest. Well, I don't know if it was from the hot springs, or just a lack of chapstick, but Donl started to get chapped lips. Since he didn't have any chapstick (and we weren't willing to share with him because that would be like KISSING if both our lips touched the same stick), he got to the point of continually licking his lips--which everyone knows results in the opposite of the desired effect. Over the course of the five days, his lips got more and more chapped until his mouth was puckered up so tight that talking was painful for him, as it would crack open his lips. That puckered up mouth is what spawned his nickname of "sphincter," from the obvious comparison. When we were done with the hike, some mothers met us at the trailhead with snacks, one of which were those giant grapes that you can get at Costco that look more like a bunch of plums and you know have to be genetically modified to get that big. Well, several of us held down Donl while someone pushed one of the grapes into his mouth--and the grape was big enough to crack his lips open once again. Ugg, now thinking back on that, I cannot imagine how the scout leaders tolerated our behavior. In the grand American tradition, I'll place all the blame on them for what happened.

Now don't judge me for my youthful oppression of the less-fortunate. I'm a fine, upstanding citizen now, and I don't think it hurt Donl too much, either--the last I heard, he was managing a 7-11 in Spokane--and they carry almost 14 different flavors and brands of chapstick, so he'll never have to go through that horror again!