Boy scout hazing
After completing training I have come to realize that a tradition in the troop my son recently ed is hazing. When ever a boy loses something and it is found, he has to sing a song or lay on the floor and "fry like bacon" to get it back. I would like to know if I should approach the Committee or the Scoutmaster concerning this and what does your troop do when a boy loses something? OldGreyEagle 10 posts. Bob White 9 posts.
My sexual identity: Hetero
Hair color: Black
What is my body type: My body features is medium-build
I prefer to drink: Champagne
My hobbies: Driving a car
Tattoo: I don't have tattoos
A scout is kind, so let’s make sure the bsa remains a safe place for all
In the group of boys from our street, there was a range of physical size, economic status, and social aptitude. When bullying takes root, engagement, high ideals, learning, hope and self esteem fall by the wayside. We were just being brutalized.
We thought it was normal. Coming in, we already had our places in the pecking order. For two seconds I stared, like a shocked pedestrian watching a bank robbery spill out onto a noontime city street.
I first went to my first overnight Scout camp in the middle of summer. We had only been there for a few hours when it started. That was just being a kid in those days. But on our street, the roughhousing was among boys who had spent long years together. Many of the kids in my troop also went to my Jr. High school. Was their moment of being abused an acknowledgement of their promise as a rising member of the group?
There was some honest friendship mixed in. The difference was that we were in closer proximity to older boys, some of whom were four or five years our seniors. The boy would scream and thrash under the assault. In Scouting, you move up in the ranks by mastering skills and earning merit badges. We were isolated with these boys.
Roughhousing is one of the social currencies of boyhood. I was twelve when I ed the Boy Scouts. My memories of those moments are quite clear. Some raced in to attack the victims, hoping to align themselves with the aggressors.
I went camping. Giving pink bellies, they called it. Those who offered themselves up willingly, took savage beatings.
Was my brother in the same patrol I was? We attending our Scout meetings at the local Presbyterian Church on one evening a week. It was how the victim interpreted these acts, coupled with whether or not they also participated in the abuse of others, that fully informed their experience of it. Or was it a reinforcement of their otherness; their lack of access going forward? But, all in all, I was not particularly inspired by Scouting.
Passivity only inflamed the cruelty and contempt that drove the entire exercise. It was case by case. Then I dropped my pack and took off running, making a beeline into the woods away from the campsites.
Somewhere, Boy Scouts were camping in the inspiring grandeur of Yosemite Park, but not us. But Scouting was different. Others stood rooted to the spot, sickly half smiles on their faces, preferring to take their pain up front, than to be hunted over the length of the afternoon. The uproar echoed through the quiet woods. It becomes the primary filter for their experience of the world.
They cease to have relevancy. What was my troop ? And most importantly, I often saw real restraint from those guys. Mostly scraggly new growth pine trees and poison ivy as far as the eye could see. They would spot a target, tackle him in the dirt, pin his arms and legs, pull up his shirt, and start slapping his stomach good and hard, a dozen or more times. All of it stank of overheated sour sweat and fear.
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The storm had passed. Typically boys do wrestle, kick and so on. The alpha Boy scout hazing wrestled those boys who were on next rung down; who wrestled the littlest of us. The crazy part is, we all accepted it. We already knew where we stood. Each patrol in our Scout Troop had been ased a camp site. Thursday evenings, I think. This was the same church my mother and stepfather took me to every Sunday.
We were in the pine woods of east Texas, where only the mosquitoes were seeing anything that inspired them. My recollections of Scouting are pretty hazy. This is the insidious impact of bullying on children. Eventually, I made my way back into the quiet campsite. I recall how uniform and dull the woods were. Sorry, mostly hazy. Like school, it incorporated aggression from strangers to strangers. We were to haul our packs in and get set up. As the father of an eight year old boy, I am working to insure that being a kid is different now.
I stayed away from camp until late in the afternoon, sitting on a log, fighting a combination of prickly fear and disgusted boredom. For how long? This rarely worked. I lasted about 18 months. This was day one of my introduction to Scout camping. Which kids from my school were there? Each kid did his own survival calculations in the moment the pink bellies started.
As a smaller kid, I was rarely pushed around unless I initiated it. Often tears would come.
Their turns came soon enough. There were five or six of them. Somewhere back along the trail, our Scoutmasters were calmly setting up camp.
It hit me like an electric shock. There existed the idea that the bigger kids could lay hands on anyone they wanted to. What might have been a vibrant, exciting week at a wonderful camp becomes instead a deadening scramble to avoid eye contact, proximity and exposure. I remained at the Tenderfoot level until I quit. We were all about the same age, but we were very different in terms of our status in the world. The largest boys came racing though the campsites.
Gay boy scout, bullied by troop, denied eagle rank
I played capture the flag. We were the victims of a simple chronological joke. We had our ased places to stand, grouped by patrols. The people and names that do come back to me from Scouting are those tied directly to acts of cruelty or violence. I got a few merit badges. The punchline was puberty. Over and over again. The Scoutmasters were not coming to put an end to it. But the abuse rarely varied.
Our new persons
His project, a "tolerance wall," was inspired by the years of hazing he endured in middle school in Moraga, Calif.
As a kid whose only barely turning 18, I understand I don't know everything and may be ignorant on this topic.
The idea that a Scout should treat others as he or she wants to be treated is woven throughout the programs and literature of the Boy Scouts of America.