Scouting was Dad’s life. Unfortunately, neither myself nor my siblings took interest in it. Camping and the outdoors were way out of my comfort zone.
Daddy took me to see the scouting activities at the plaza or at the school grounds. I enjoyed the campfires and torch parades. I was amazed with how many types of knots you can make or cooking rice in bamboo. I guess, scouting seemed cool back then when I was a little kid. But not cool enough for me to want to give up a proper bathroom or sleeping accommodations.
Then came Christmases and New Years Dad spent in Jamborees and campings. I thought I was used to it. This was practically routine since I was an infant. But when you’re away for school most of the year, holidays became family time. It was annoying. I didn’t understand why Jamborees had to be held during this times. Scouting took him to different parts of the country. But it also took him away from us during important occasions.
As an adult, it was kind of embarrassing when your father is described as a boy scout. No offense meant. Maybe because I never learned what it meant to be one. Citizen development he always said.
He loved to tell stories about his adventures… all those places he had been to, all the boy scouts who we were now successful grown men… He was so proud of his boys.
This was practically how life was for us. We weren’t his only family. We had to share him with the entire scouting community.
Later, when I had my own advocacies did I understand what he held dearly. In order to rebuild a nation, we must endeavor to make better citizens who will care enough to make a difference. One boy at a time. One child at a time.
Daddy always respected my politics and my choices as much as I did his. We respected each other even when we disagreed. We never voted for the same president since I reached voting age. I was reared to decide for myself… and not to merely to accept what others said or wanted, not even from my own father.
Every father is their child’s hero. My hero just happen to be a boyscout.