Wednesday evening Gus and I headed over to Prophet Elias, and the second I walked into the "little gym" I got a total rush of deja vu.
I was suddenly transported back to an evening in the late 1970s, with my then sister-in-law, Kelly, standing next to me in the little gym. There I was again, scrawny, insecure, not knowing a soul...and there to become a Boy Scout.
Flash forward 30+ years and it's my turn to be the more secure, confident adult - Gus sticking to me like glue, excited about joining Cub Scouts but displaying more than a little trepidation.
Like me all those years earlier, Gus loved his first night of Scouts. Unlike me, he recognized a friend among the other boys: a kid he knew from Sunday School class.
(And for anyone who doubts the interconnectedness of the Greek community, while chatting with the kid's dad, I discovered he's my cousin Yvonne's nephew!)
But there was one awkward moment: the "Den Mother" - the Scout leader for the youngest boys - asked me if I'd help with the troop. Since parents have to stay with the boys in that age group, I simply could have said "Yes" and left it at that. Instead, I was honest.
I told the woman how I'd be happy to help but the Boy Scouts of America may not allow me to because I am a gay man. I tried to say it with confidence and, well, I guess pride. But right there, in that place, in front of this organization, all my pre-teen insecurities and self doubt came flooding back and I know my voice broke.
She paused for only a second or two before saying, "I don't care. Will you help out?"
Of course I will.
Awesome Chris!
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