Local University has been invaded by gaggles of boy scouts and troup leaders. They roam our streets, they lengthen the line at the bank, they ask for directions to shoe stores and Walmart, they tilt their hats with a cheerful “Howdy Ma’am!” as they hold the door open for you.
They’re fun to watch.
They're so polite.
They're learning mad skills.
The boys aren’t really “boys”, they’re mostly older teenagers in what I guess are Eagle Scout rank. Their troup leaders are men of middle age and much practical skill, who study maps and find shade for their den of cubs.
They all have bright sashes.
Like Miss America.
Sashes with colourful badges and insignias, sashes that lie gracefully on one shoulder and bounce gleefully off the opposite hip as they march around town.
Sashes that point with perfect form to the tops of their two-tone knee-high socks.
They wear jaunty hats on their heads, and playful camp shirts. Green, khaki shorts and hiking boots.
Don't get me wrong, I think Boy Scouts are wonderful, the experience lasts a lifetime, the skills are forever.
They don’t want openly gay adult men leading their troups.
Then they shouldn't dress them so fancy.
Where the hell is MY sash?