WHAT IS A BOY?
Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors, but all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adults pack them off to bed at night.
Boys are found everywhere – on top of, underneath of, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them, and heaven protects them. A boy is truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its finger, wisdom with bubble gum in his hair, and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a composite; he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-sized atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker and when he makes something he has five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings, and fire engines. He is not much for Sunday school, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, two gum drops, six cents a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic code rig with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature; you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Might as well give up; he is your captor, your jailor, your boss, and your master, a freckle faced, pint-sized, cat chasing, bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams he can mend them like new with the two magical words, “Hi Dad!”
So what do you do with the above bundle of energy that will someday take over the job of father, dad, husband, or leader that will make decisions that will make this country hum? Put him in Scouting and let the leaders train him in the ways the Boy Scout handbook and the teachings of Lord Baden Powell has lead other boys to be Scouts for the last 100 years. They train leaders while having fun and it gives their parents a rest.