Boy Scouts has become a big part of my family’s time.  My husband hated Boy Scouts as a kid.  His pinewood derby car ended up being a block of wood with wheels.  The other kids, the ones who didn’t have divorced parents, had carved out sleek racing cars with painted stripes.  Peter begged his older brother for help, but did so only half an hour before the big event.

I remember the conversation about Cub Scouts when our boys were little.  We said we’d never support an organization that could exclude the gay population, or any other group of people.

Then our son became intrigued.  He was interested in nothing, but Cub scouts had him raising a single eyebrow: “Well, maybe that sounds good, Mom…”  

He  probably liked the soldier-like feeling of the uniformed pack of boys all in one place.  Then, of course, our second son wanted part of the action.

I have a dear and wonderful group of women, some who are gay, some who are old enough to be my mother, and a couple of them are mothers like me.  We meet once a month on Sunday mornings, and we drink tea while pouring out our souls around the kitchen table.  Hearing my angst about Cubs Scouting, they suggested that I check out something called “Indian Guides.”  I went online, only to discover that they were probably a good organization, but they really didn’t exist in my area.  I gave up on that idea, and for the sake of convenience, was back to scouting again.

Our pinewood derby cars are sort of respectable.  They are somewhere between a block of wood and a lacquered racing car.  Even though I might grumble about the sawdust flying and tools left out everywhere, I am happy to have all my boys working on this project on a Saturday afternoon.

But bringing me back to reality, my husband, my quite, gentle, engineer husband, broke down and had to buy for himself the dreaded “official scout shirt.”  He had been assisting so much with the kids (a really, really good thing, right?) that the other leaders asked for his help.

How did this happen?

But our kids love the hikes and camping.  They don’t go much for team sports, but this is the kind of individual stuff they like. 

We remain conflicted, my husband and I.   We want to support the interests of our kids, but not an organization that excludes.  (I do like the fact that there is one lone girl in the pack – no rules against that, I guess?)

So what do we do?  By the time we figure it out, our children will either lose interest -- or move out of the house. 

By Maria Dudley

Labels: Boy Scouts, Cub Scouts, Maria Dudley

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My excuses flowed like a quick moving stream. I had planned for a month (it was written in HUGE red letters on the kitchen wall calendar, on the second Sunday in March) to attend a Writing Mamas meeting, but I almost didn’t come.

My husband thought it was because of him – that maybe I felt guilty leaving him to the kids and no planned dinner and bedtime. I hadn’t actually thought of that, but then I added it to the list.

“No,” I told him, “I have to read two chapters in my textbook by tomorrow for the class I’m taking, and I’ve got to drive my mom to the airport tomorrow early. And then there’s Ethan’s state report, and …”

The excuses kept coming.

Even as I got into the car with Peter following me, I continued to babble my river of reasons I didn’t have time for this writing group.

Somehow I made it, across the bridge, over to the other side.

The other side of my life.

The other side of me.

Who am I to call myself a writer?

But I’m here now, and as unprepared as I am, writing with one of my son’s dull pencils without an eraser, I’m so glad I made it.

By Maria Dudley

Labels: Maria Dudley

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