"Dad, I Don't Want To Go"

When I was twelve-years-old I broke my father’s heart. He was driving me to my umpteenth Boy Scout meeting when I told him I didn’t want to go.

“What’s the matter Bud,” he asked me, “you not feeling well?”

“No dad. I don’t want to go to scouts anymore. I want to quit”

This was one of the hardest things I ever had to say to my father. I was terrified to tell him of my decision to leave the Boy Scouts not because I thought he’d get angry, or that he’d be disappointed in me, but because I knew it would make him sad.

My dad had been a Boy Scout all the way until he turned 18. He probably would have stayed in longer if it weren’t for the age restriction. He often told me how his fondest memories from childhood were from scout campouts and weekend trips. To this day he goes camping once a year with the boys, now men, from his old scout troop.

He signed me up for Boy Scouts as soon as they’d allow me in, at the age of seven. I began as a Cub Scout doing crafts and taking field trips to museums. I moved on through WEBELOWS (We Be Loyal Scouts) and started earning activity badges for things like using a compass and wielding a pocket knife. At 10-years-old I had a Cub Scout graduation ceremony, crossed the ceremonial bridge, and I was made a legitimate Boy Scout. This meant real camping trips and real merit badges.

Throughout my ascension from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts my dad was there. He went to meetings with me, he helped me earn my activity badges, and he organized carpools for our trips. When I moved into Boy Scouting he was excited. He signed up as a troop leader, bought his khaki shirt and scarf, and started going to leadership training to become a better scout dad. Even at that young age I could see how much my father enjoyed being in the Boy Scouts again. Part of the joy he got out of it, I’m sure, was getting to spend time with his oldest son. But also I think he was reliving something he loved from his childhood.

So there I was at twelve-years-old, only two years into what should have been an eight year experience, and I was robbing my father of one of the things he loved most in life. At least that’s how I felt. After I told him I didn’t want to go he immediately accepted the decision and turned the car back towards home. He let a few moments go by then asked me why I wanted to quit. My emotions overwhelmed me. I couldn’t answer him because I was crying so hard.

“I’m sorry dad. I’m so sorry.” I squeaked out through the tears. “I love you but I don’t want to go to scouts anymore. I’m sorry”.

His answer was simple. “It’s okay Bud. I love you too”.

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. I cried, and we both hoped we hadn’t done anything to make the other person feel bad.

My reasons for quitting the Boy Scouts were simple. My interests were changing. I had made some friends who were in a local youth theater organization and I wanted to try singing and dancing instead of camping. I still loved my dad. I wasn’t rebelling against him. I just wanted to do something different.

I’ve thought about what it is I’m waiting to have my own son so I can do again. I think it will be baseball. I can’t wait to have a boy to play catch with. I’ll teach him how to throw, what a ground rule double is, and I’ll coach his little league team. I imagine my dad fantasized this way about teaching me to build a fire and find true north. Maybe all parents send their kids to activities subconsciously trying to relive their youth. That doesn’t seem wrong. I just hope I can be as gracious and understanding as my father was when my son tells me “Dad, I don’t want to go”.

The Inauguration (Creative Non-Fiction Writing Assignment #1)

It was an historic day. Barack Obama was to be sworn in as the first African American president of the United States. People from around the country were making their way to Washington D.C. with a fervor that resembled a religious pilgrimage. They were traveling by plane, bus, car, and train; any way they could just to bear witness to history in the making. Obama Fever had reached its zenith and it was taking our nation’s capitol by storm. As for me, I can’t think of somewhere I wanted to be less than the national mall outside the US capitol building. 

Don’t get me wrong. I voted for Obama. I’m hopeful about change in Washington, “Yes We Can”, yadda yadda yadda.  My wife made fun of me because I cried more at Obama’s DNC victory speech than I did at our wedding. I’m a big fan of our new president, but there was no way in hell I was going to Washington D.C. for the inauguration. 

There are several reasons I’m glad I wasn’t in Washington on that historic Tuesday in January. First of all, it would have been expensive. A round trip flight between L.A. and D.C runs about $250 on a good day, and there’s no way my wife would let me make that trip alone so we’re looking at $500 at least for flights. Secondly, there’s the problem of where we would have stayed. Hotels were sold out for weeks if not months in advance. There was a story on NPR about a large family from Louisville that couldn’t even get a hotel in Baltimore, 35 miles outside of D.C. Let’s suppose the gods look favorably upon me and I find a motel somewhere in rural Virginia. The prices are sure to be triple the normal rate so I’m guessing I’d pay $250 a night and even then I’m lucky if there aren’t any fleas. Throw in a rental car, food, gas, and the cost of this trip quickly adds up to at least $1500. 

$1500 is a lot of money for someone of my economic stature. Maybe it would be worth it if I were going to play a little one-on-one b-ball with Prez Obama after the inauguration ceremony, but all that money just to catch a glimpse from 1.5 miles away? I don’t think so. 

Another thing is that I tend to be discouraged by the combination of large crowds and extreme weather. This is why I’ve never gone to the Coachella Music Festival. I can’t imagine braving the hippies, the drunks, and the desert heat just to hear some music I can download on Itunes for 99 cents a song. So even if I would have made it to Washington I would have heard about the lines at the metro stations, the gridlocked traffic, and the sub-freezing temperatures and I probably would have just stayed at the flea motel to watch the ceremony on TV. 

My worst fear would be that I would suffer a similar fate of those unfortunate purple ticket holders who were held up in the “tunnel of doom” while the ceremony took place. Poor people! They traveled great distances, they got up early, they bundled up, and then they were left to freeze on the interstate 395. My fear of a logistical mishap such as this one was yet another deterrent keeping me away from Washington.

So, call me an agoraphobic cynic, but I’d rather witness history from the comfort of my office with a hot cup of tea, and the thermostat at a balmy 72 degrees. But the question remains: can those of us who were too cheap and lazy to make the trip out to Washington still appreciate the magnitude of Barack Obama’s inauguration? The answer is yes. With Anderson Cooper as our guide, yes we can.