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Diaryland
Fireworks June 05, 2007 @ 1:06 p.m.
It's sometime before 9/11, a boundary that easily sticks in my life like a snap-to grid. I'm in Tennessee, at the University just outside of Nashville. I don't remember which one it was, other than that their mascot was the Volunteers. I remember this because I kept remarking, "What kind of team name is 'the Volunteers?' How does that strike terror into the hearts of your opponents?" I think I've also leveled the same criticism at the Boilermakers. I have not been a big sports buff in the past, but team names always seemed an essential part of the whole circus to me.
I'm here for an Order of the Arrow convention, or conclave, or wigwam, or whatever noun I can or can't remember they called it. It must have been a national one, because otherwise I would be in Alaska, Hawaii, California, Oregon, or back home. I know this because I have been to many places in the United States through O.A, the Boy Scout's honor society mixture of Masonry, camping, and 'The Last of the Mohicans'. I've also been several places around the U.S. with standard scouting, but I tend to enjoy the places I go to with O.A. more. I am able to enjoy this privilege of travel because my father, the great Dr. Mark Stolowitz P.h.D., is not only a major player in the training, and perhaps the politics, of American Scouting, but is also a very successful biochemist and entrepreneur. I think it would be unfair to say that my dad used scouting as a kind of religion, because he didn't even come close to the level of fervor I had seen in many scouting fathers. Hell, for the Mormons, scouting WAS and IS part of their religion: its an integral part of their boy's program. So I won't level that accusation against my dad. I will say, though, that I've probably had far more doubts about the spirit and integrity of scouting than my father, who I think it safe to say is a true believer in that regard.
I like my O.A. group though, and I like the places we go to. Even here in Tennessee, I'm excited and interested and enjoying myself. This is before I went off to Oregon and began to develop a taste for certain flavors of country music. My interest in country is limited to observing Corey's passion for Garth Brooks and the hatred and death threats this seems to inspire amongst the rest of the contigent from our Lodge in Seattle. Our Chinook name is T'kope Kwiskwis, affectionately known as 'T'kope Squeezecheese' after the staple often shipped to scout camps in large quantities. This is a relatively long time before I will discover Kenny Chesney and consequently have my spirit, if not my soul, saved by him. For now, I just think to myself that Garth Brooks isn't half bad - he just needs some rustling up from the fashion police. Maybe with a lasso for added effect... hehehe.
We stay in old, vacated university brick dormitories. I think it was pretty hot, so I don't remember much time spent in the rooms themselves. During the couple of days, there are trips to leadership classes of various types, most of which I conclude are making leadership way too complex. Unlike my father, I've never been a big fan of Stephen Covey and co, though I dutifully read and tried to apply "The 7 Habits of Highly Successful Teens" - the big barrier being that I hated the pointless boredom and mean spirit of school and thus dug in my heels more with every attempt to force me harder or more subtly to do what I hate. To me, the secret of leadership is as simple as the golden rule - you put yourself in other's shoes and act accordingly. As Hillel would say, all the rest is commentary.
There was a petitioner and a table there at the convention from Scouting for All, the main group campagining for the open inclusion of atheists and gays into scouts. My friends were critical - one even engaged the petitioner in debate - but I don't recall it being especially of a bigoted nature. Mostly they were sick of the issue and felt it was innapropriate to bring it to this convention. I was of course closeted at the time and couldn't say otherwise - I had visions of my nearly complete eagle scout award being snatched away even as I also entertained fantasies of outing myself deliberately and delightfully at my Eagle Court of Honor as a permanent conclusion to the insanity I perceived. This was, I'm pretty sure, before the Supreme Court ruled that the Boy Scouts were a private organization and thus entitled to be as hypocritical as they wish. My dad predicted as much, and said that a ruling otherwise was likely to cause a massive schism within the enitre organization. Middle-class white men mired in prejudice versus slightly more open-minded middle-class white men. What a difference that would make.
I remember staying up late and not feeling tired. I remember running on top of roofs at midnight warmly comfortable in t-shirt and shorts. I do not recall if they were the god-awful scout shorts of shit-colored tone and too short length. I remember the way Nashville was lit up at night. I remember feeling wonderful for a litle while.
I remember watching fireworks, possibly the most beautiful and wonderful things I have ever seen in my life. If you are affected by light and color the way I am, you'll understand that I always go into a kind of trance when I watch them. They need not be extravagant - I've seen extravagant shows and this was not one of them. I sat on a concrete overhang of the university and watched fireworks of beautiful colors splashing so gracefully and gently, that even a teenager couldn't help but feel free.
"Details in the Fabric" - May 31, 2009
Not So Quick Questions - April 6, 2009
The Morning Stars - Lords of the 15 - April 9, 2009
Sincerity and Faith in Magic - April 10, 2009
Not So Quick Questions (2) - April 14, 2009
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