Scouting can be a wonderful experience. You can learn so much as a Scout, to the point where you can use your Scouting years to become an incredible adult.
I really wish I had those experiences. I really do.
Unfortunately, my experience with Scouting was absolutely poor and unacceptable.
And before someone worries that this is going to lead to a story involving any sort of sexual abuse … no. This is an emotional abuse story, plain and simple.
We’re going back to the mid-1970’s. My mother thought it would be a wonderful idea to have me join the local scouting troop. I believe it was Troop 95 from South Colonie. We met on Friday nights at the Veeder Elementary School gymnasium for scouting events – and eventually we also attended various campouts.
I was not prepared for campouts. I was barely emotionally prepared for Scouting – especially when some of the members of Troop 95 were also the same kids who bullied me as a student. So, yeah. And I knew that the campouts were really disguised sleepaway camps so that my parents could have a few days away from me. Yeah, thanks.
I tried to make it through campouts, but it wasn’t easy. Trust me. I already had enough emotional damage and baggage from my family, and that already made me a socially awkward kid. But I tried to be a decent Scout. I really did. I read the handbooks. I tried to figure out orienteering with a compass. I even tried the concept of totemship – or “Totin’ Chip” – or whatever it was called, where you actually learned the proper way to handle a Scouting knife and an axe and whatever else cut things.
But yeah … I was not cut out for Scouting.
And at one major campout … I got the message, loud and clear.
It was the last night of a campout, I think it was at Camp Stratton, if I remember correctly. Seven days of being in the woods, seven days of just not fitting in. There were other Scouts who had no use for me, and the Scoutmasters didn’t really have time to take me aside and explain things to me.
But on that last day … several of the Scouts received special achievements and the like. Some of the Scouts were promoted to higher ranks that night – receiving awards for Second Class level and First Class level. I don’t think we had anyone go to Eagle Scout that night, but I think we at least had one rise to First Class, and also receive the coveted Order of the Arrow as well. Don’t look towards me, I was just a Tenderfoot at the time.
Then one of the Scouts called me up. And they handed me a piece of carved wood. The wood looked like it came from a small tree branch, it was about six inches long and had some initials burned into its side.
D. U. C. A.
I didn’t understand. What was DUCA? Was this some secret Scouting award that wasn’t in the manual? And why was everybody laughing when they handed me the piece of wood?
Then one of the Scouts explained it to me. In front of the Scoutmasters and the rest of the troop.
“You are the DUCA of our troop. This is your award. DUCA. Dumb, Uncoordinated, Crybaby Asshole.”
The piece of wood instantly felt like a burnt piece of charcoal in my fingers. This wasn’t an award. This was a glorified humiliation.
And the other Scouts laughed at this. They suggested I should get a lanyard and wear it around my neck as part of my Scouting uniform at Scouting meetings. That I should be my official merit badge.
When I returned home from the campout, I took off my Scouting uniform and never wore it again. I was done. Ugh.
Even today, when I think about Scouting, I try to imagine the positives that Scouting can achieve for young men and women. Hell, I’ll even stop and buy the Scouting popcorn if I see Scouts selling it.
But the memories I have with Scouting are different. In my opinion, Scouting works if you’re already in the mindset to be a good Scout. It doesn’t work when your home life is completely toxic and you’re already dealing with emotional and social issues. And in those moments, you’re not one Scout among many … you’re one target among people who are looking for targets.
And I may as well have stitched a bullseye over my Tenderfoot badge.
A bullseye made of wood … with the initials D U C A on it.
Chuck The Writer 