Scouts

I have taken up scouting again (I was one as a kid) only this time I'm the boss. I've got a group of about 20 cubs aged 7 to 11 and try to amuse them once a week. On the summer camp we stayed in a youthhostel not far from Cologne. I rained for most of the time and somehow I got envolved playing a cutthroat game of oldmaid with five cardsharks under the age of ten. I am a scout leader from my point of view and the latest sucker to play cards with as they see it.

We ate popcorn laced with sugar and butter, and knocking back strait shotsof milk right out of the carton, which was passed solemnly from hand to hand. We all wore cowboy hats and chewed on matches picking our teeth. Thats the rule - Hats and toothpicks - You must look serious when you play cards.

And these are hard core bull-goose card whippers. I have been the Old maid three times running and am down to nine M&M's and two strawberry pops in my pot. We are all cheating every chance we get. One of them has an extra deck he is playing under the table. I cant prove it but thats what I think. Anyway what saved me from utter ruin at the hands of this criminal element was moths.

A flock of moths were corkscrewing around the coleman lantern. Every once in a while one would hit a hot spot and go zzzsssshh and spin out and crash like a fighter plan in a bad combat movie. Finally one zerked out of orbit into the nearest spiders web and the spider mugged, rolled, wrapped, and sucked the life-juice out of this poor moth so fast and so mercilessly it stopped the old maid game dead. A special forces soldier could learn something about the garrote from this eight legged acrobat with the poisen mouth.

The kids loved it. Encouraged by this homicidal scene one of the boys left the table, rolled up a sheet of newspaper and starts a king hell masacre on the rest of the circling moths. Knocking them nout of teh air smashing them flat on the table, leaving little furry smudges and brocken parts. I leapt to the defence of the moths. Its bad enough that the lantern hypnotizes them into kamikaze runs and that spiders zap them into neatly canned lunceon meat, but small boys with newspapers are excessive handicaps to have to overcome.

"Why are you killing the poor moths?"

"Moths are Bad" says he

"Everybody knows the" shouts another.

"Course, moths eat your clothes"

That ended the old maid game. I stamped off telling them that I would play cards with killers and they shouted that they would play with someone who ate all the popcorn while nobody was looking. I went to bed thinking that if the future was in the hands of thes maniacs then we were in trouble.

The next morning the youngest came to me with a large dead moth in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. He showed it to me telling me that it looked like a teddybear with wings and feathers on its head. He said he liked teddy bears. He even liked teddy bears with wings and feathers on theis heads.

Once again I was the old maid. One must sometimes at least practice what one preaches and if one should look at moths without prejudice and with understanding then one may be forced to look apon little boys in a more generous light. Some moths make silk. Some small boys make sence. I realise that these kids really do have something to teach me even if I am a bit slow at times. Its at times like these that I think I would sometime like to have my own kids to worry about instead of just playing the child minder every now and again.

Later we played Giants Wizards and Dwarfs. This is an Andrew version of "Schere Stein Papier" only it gets played with a whole lot more than just two and that it involves some interllectual decision making and that the rules get made up as you go along. The real purpose of the game is to make a lot of noise and run around chasing people until nobody knows which side you are on or who won.

Organising a roomful of wired-up kid into two team, explaining the rudiments of the game, achieving consensus on group identity - all this is no mean accomplishment but I did it with a right good will and were ready to go.

The excitement of the chase had reached a critical mass. I yelled out that it was time decide if they were a giant a wizard or a dwarf. While the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. A small child stands there looking up and asks in a small voice where the Mermaids stand. I looked down very confused and after along pause, a very long pause I said that there were no such things as mermaids. She said yes there were and that she was one. She did not relate to being a giant, a wizard or a dwarf. She knew her category. Mermaid. And was not about to leave the game and go stand over by the wall like some looser with the sulks. She intended to participate, wherever mermaids fit into the scheme of things. Without giving up her dignity or identity. She took it for granted that there was a place for mermaids and that I would know just where.

Well where do the mermaids stand? All the mermaids, all those that are different, those who do not fit the norm and do not accept the available boxes or pigeonholes? Answer that question and you can build a school, a nation or a world on it. What was my answer at the moment? Every once in a while I say the right thing. " the mermaid stands right here by the king of the sea" says I. "Yes right here by the king's fool" I thought to myself.

So we stood there hand in hand, reviewing the troops of wizards giants and dwarfs as they roiled by in wild disarray. It is true by the way that mermaids do exist. I know at least one personally. I have held her hand.