This is my son's second year in Cub Scouts. He's not all that into it. Neither am I. I never was a scout, and one of my brothers was, but only for a short time. Anyway, today's scouting just doesn't seem like the scouting I seem to recall from -- gulp -- decades ago. Where's the outdoors? Where's the skills-development? Where's the casualness?
Well, I get the feeling it's all gone the way of the Dodo. Like most other activities for children these days, it is designed only to reward those who can give it 100% of their already over-scheduled time. Go here, do this, take this seminar, be at that meeting, drag your kid out into the cold for a lame-ass gathering at 7 p.m. that consists mostly of rowdy, un-supervised children with fewer manners than a rabid wolverine.
I complain too much.
Nevertheless, I threw myself (for a moment) into the carving of a nice Pinewood Derby racer. Yes, threw myself into it. Even busted out my 13 year old carving knives. And all was going great.
Until I carved halfway into my index finger with a nice, sharp knife. For a while I worried about permanent nerve damage or whether I needed stitches. I probably do, really, but am trying to avoid an ER trip. Band-aids will do.
The Pinewood Derby racecar has become a Pinewood Derby station wagon.
Suh-weet!
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