Friday, November 3, 2017

A story about a boy who became a young man, then learned to fly.

Dear Oldest,

I asked you yesterday if you wanted me to write something in honor of the fact that we are hosting your Eagle Scout Court of Honor tomorrow. You said you thought maybe I'd written something, or at least included it in some of the other things I've written, but as it turns out, I haven't said that much about it.

It was long enough ago that you've
changed significantly since this picture
was taken at your Board of Review.

You've been technically done with it now for several months, having your Board of Review so long ago I couldn't even tell you which month it was when it actually happened. We just hadn't gotten around to this formal part because, well, we live in a house with seven busy people. Drumline ate up most of your time in the spring, then it was summer and you wanted to wait until school started because you wanted to be able to invite more of your friends.

As is often the case in our house, we had to just pick a date and start planning. You know as well as I do, we'd be busy doing 17 other things tomorrow if we hadn't just decided to go ahead and send out invitations.

Your dad started working on a slideshow of pictures a few weeks ago. I haven't watched it because I can't. I mean, I will when there are people here obviously, and I'll do the best I can not to cry in front of everyone, but I will probably fail miserably.

You know this about me, though.

Your dad was a Boy Scout. He made it to the rank of Life, the one just below Eagle, before general adolescence and after school jobs and I came along as distractions. I've always said that I tried to get him to finish it, and I think he'd even agree, but it just didn't work out that way.

Before we even had children, we had the conversation about scouting. I'd never been involved, except for one Girl Scouts meeting my parents forced me to attend. They were sewing tiny little pillows. I turned around, walked out the door, never wanting to go back. My brother wasn't a scout. I didn't really know what all was involved, aside from what I saw while dating your dad. We debated whether we'd want our kids to join, especially after the controversies that the organization faced back then.

He was torn. I was sure I didn't want anything to do with the organization.

Then you came along.

As you got nearer and nearer to the age Cub Scouts starts, he grew restless. He was still conflicted, but found himself weighing all the things he had learned and experienced, all the friends he had made. You've heard his stories about the epic 50 mile backpacking trips, especially the one about the bear, more times than you can count. He loved being a Boy Scout.

The compromise was a simple one. I'd agree that you could join, but he had to be involved in leadership. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He wanted it for you that badly.

Little did I know that a decision made purely out of the fondness for his memories would lead us here, over ten years later.

They say that only 4% of kids who join scouting complete the Eagle rank. Out of your original Cub Scout Den, you're the only one who stuck it out until the end. Over those years, you were met with many decisions about what you wanted to do, which way you wanted to go. I think you were about 12 or 13 when you first mentioned that you wanted to finish it. I don't know that you realized just how much work was involved, but you set the goal.

To get there, you had to forgo other things, and some of those things are the things you love the very most in this world. Top of that list? You took a year off of winter drumline to finish up your last few badges and complete your project.

I know that it was probably the hardest decision you've made in your life so far. I know adults who would never be able to give up something they love that much, even if it was only for a year, so that they could complete a goal.

You begrudgingly chose to focus on Scouts, because you knew that the older you became, the harder it would be to finish. Can you imagine trying to get any of it done this year, with the class schedule you have right now? Your dad nudged you in this direction, urged you to learn from his time in Scouting, hoping that you'd make the choice, but left it to you.

We laid that decision at your feet and walked away.

And you did it.

I know how hard it was, seeing your friends go on to Worlds without you. You know what, though? They understood, which is why so many of them will be here to celebrate with you. The drums waited. And you're back now, leading the bass line, going to Worlds this year.

I've always been the peripheral parent to Scouting. Dad has always been the one more involved. I've been just far enough away to watch you grow and mature through the years, in part because of your journey in scouts. You've gone camping in the mountains in the winter. You've gone canoeing and fishing and shooting. You've designed a project to benefit the hospital you've been volunteering at for years. You've developed the discipline it takes to make hard choices, to see the benefit of long term goals. You've learned to write letters to elected officials and draft personal statements. You've put together presentations. You've become a leader for your troop, for your little brother's den.

You've grown up, matured, changed for the better.

You aren't the little boy who started on this path. You're a young man now, and I'm so proud of who you have already become and who you will someday be.

Spending time this week in preparation for this event, I got to really thinking about the Scout Law, and about how much you exemplify the ideals.

Trustworthy. You are honest, even when telling the truth is difficult.

Loyal. You might tease your friends and your siblings constantly, but you'll protect them to the ends of the Earth.

Friendly. You are a social butterfly, finding connections with people in so many different facets of life.

Courteous. You are well mannered and respectful, you understand the importance of gratitude.

Kind. You love big. You always have. It's just who you are. You are a natural caregiver.

Obedient. I've told you on numerous occasions that you broke me in gently as a parent, and I mean it. You have never had a behavior issue that couldn't be fixed by a snack and a nap.

Cheerful. You're an optimist, always seeing the best in people. Even living with me. (ha)

Thrifty. You are diligent about saving towards things you want, and those things are always, always, always instruments.

Brave. You take on new challenges, jumping in with both feet. You aren't afraid to fail, and even if you do, you dust yourself off and learn so that you can do it better next time.

Clean. Literally and figuratively, you're a good kid.

Reverent. Though we aren't a religious family, I've told you from the time you were young that spirituality isn't something tied to a book or a building. It's more than that. It's faith in something bigger than yourself. For you, it's the outdoors, but even more than that, it's music. That's where your center is, where you always go when you need to sort things out. I can always tell when you're working out something in your head, because you end up at the piano playing Mad, Mad World. 

I'm proud of you, sweetie.

I hope that you enjoy your day tomorrow, and I hope that everything you sacrificed to get here was worth it in the end. I love you.

Spread your wings and fly, Eagle.

Love,
Mom

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