Mauled By a Grizzly...was Re: Abusive parents
Rex Goode (rexg@COIL.COM)
Sat, 6 Jul 1996 06:50:21 -0400
At 07:11 AM 7/4/96 GMT, Rod Keen wrote:
>I really didn't need that. anyway I just thought that I'd get it off my
>chest.
Rod,
I think you did the right thing. Some people! Just because one boy gets
cold doesn't mean it is too cold for all of them. My oldest son had a case
hypothermia a few years ago while we were on the trail on a fifty miler,
many miles from the nearest help. We treated him and got it under control
and he was very scared. I'm glad I was there. The following summer at
summer camp, with all the other boys passing their swim tests, he gave up.
When he got out and I asked him about it, he said it was too cold. Ever
since that day up on the mountain, he's been afraid of cold and what is
just right for other boys is too cold for him.
The larger question is how to deal with abusive fathers, the kind of
people my scouts always referred to as "grizzly bears". My account of
an encounter with one I called, "Mauled By a Grizzly." I'm including
it here. It illustrates my personal policy for dealing with difficult
people. At my size, I'm a bit of a bear myself, but prefer to be thought
of as a buffalo. ;)
Mauled by a Grizzly
During my years as a Scoutmaster, we went to Camp Meriwether one
year, on the Oregon Coast. It's a beautiful camp next to the
ocean, nestled in a beautiful forest of pine trees. At the base
of Cardiac Hill is the dining hall, where meals are served to the
whole camp at one time.
I was fairly new to Scouting with only one big qualification of
which I was certain...I loved those boys. They were a handful
sometimes, but I loved them.
In that dining hall, we were seated at the large tables by troop
and patrol. We had a small group. A couple of rowdies in my
group had not yet learned the fine art of tolerance for differences
and had a habit of making fun of a young boy in another troop who
had a slight facial deformity. The young boy was not totally innocent
either. He was hell on wheels and intentionally an irritant to my
boys. In other words, both had their faults.
The other Scoutmaster was a big brute. For those of you who haven't
met me, I'm 6'2" and weigh 300 pounds. At the time I was only about
245 pounds. The other guy was bigger than me and it wasn't all fat.
My boys had developed the unfortunate habit of calling him Grizzly.
He had both the look and temperament of one.
At lunch one day, during all the spirit-building songs when my back
was turned (because they knew I wouldn't have allowed it if I had
been watching), they retaliated against the boy in the other troop
for throwing food at them. One of mine flicked one of those little
square plastic bread bag things at the boy. It hit him in the lip.
Grizzly, uh, I mean my Scouting brother came unglued. In front of the
whole dining hall, he called me out for a brawl. He was going to
teach me a lesson for not controlling my boys better. I first replied
to him that I wasn't coming, not just yet. I gathered my Scouts
around and obtained the necessary confessions. I was prepared to
apologize on their behalf but would never get the chance.
When I walked out the door of the dining hall, the entire camp had
formed a circle around where I would be standing, a boxing ring
of sorts. There in the center stood the grizzly bear. I stepped
into the ring and firmly set my feet. Dropping my hands to my side,
open and not in a fist, I waited patiently while my opponent stomped
around the ring. He shouted, threatened, advanced as if ready to
throw a punch, then finally in exasperation stormed through the
spectators and disappeared up a trail.
Now I ask you, who won the fight that day?
---
Rex Goode rexg@coil.com http://www.coil.com/~rexg/index.htm
"I used to be a buffalo..."
Terry Howerton Sakima Group, Inc. SCOUTER Magazine Kansas City | 
