Monday, May 31, 2010
I'm pretty sure lighting will shoot down the sky at some point during this post. I should probably attach a fork or something to my head. But here it is...
I hate Scouts. Not the boys themselves. Well, sometimes. But what I'm referring to is the job of tending the Scouts. It's my church calling. For those of you not familiar with my church, I'm LDS. And our church is entirely run by volunteerism, from the head of the church down to the most menial of jobs. (That would be Scouts in case you are wondering.) The church building is cleaned by members of the congregation, the sermons are given by members of the congregation, the organ music is played by members of the congregation....everything. All on a volunteer basis. And every so often the bishop, who is the head of the congregation, asks a member if they are willing to have a new job, or calling. It's generally understood to be very bad form to say no. 'Cause, you know, someone has to do all those jobs. Well, 6 months ago I got asked to be in charge of the Wolf Scouts. And I said yes. But I hate it.
It's not so much that I don't like the boys. Some boys are better than others. Some days are better than others. But I just have no passion for it at all. I don't care about building bird feeders out of pop bottles or kites out of grocery sacks. I don't even care about collecting can goods for the Food Bank or picking up trash on the side of the road. Because I'm with the Scouts. And stinky, sweaty little boys just isn't really my thing.
I know this is an awful thing to say. I'm sure those boys are learning really valuable life lessons from Scouts, like how to make musical instruments out of toilet paper rolls and dried beans, but I just don't want to be the one to teach them.
There. I said it. Now I'm going to hell.