I am beginning to wonder if there is such a thing as a Special Cub Scout Pack. By Special, I mean like short bus special. I’m not talking about the kids either, although there are a few interesting fellas; that’s to be expected, they’re just kids. But the Pack parents have got to be the strangest group of folks I’ve ever had the pleasure of socializing with. Most (over 50%) are high pants wearers. Not just the flood pants type, although that’s inherent, but the buckle your belt above the navel type. I swear, I think someone went out and looked for these people and invited them to be a part of this Pack.

Oddly enough, that is the only cultural trait the parents seem to have in common. They are as diverse as I’ve ever seen. One mom, we’ll call her……Susan, is one of the most scatter-brained, disorganized, unauthoritative figures I’ve met. Nothing wrong with that and Lord knows I would rather walk on my own tongue than speak ill of someone, unless that person is a SCOUT LEADER!

We asked her to be more specific as to what “snack/dinner” we were supposed to bring. She said, “Oh whatever you want to bring, you know what kids like.” Well soda in cans was a bad idea, “That’s way too much for these kids (ten-year-olds) to drink.” And she’s right. The cans didn’t get spilled at all like the styrofoam cups did, leaving much more soda for the kids to drink rather than the parents to wipe up. And the sandwiches were wrong because “some kids don’t like mustard.” Who knew? Guess what Susan? Some kids don’t even like sandwiches.

Susan is the parent of Wild Child; the most unmedicated, uncontrolled, hyper, loud kid in the entire Pack. Two of us actually high-fived when we found out he was sick at home. I made a comment about wishing Susan would have stayed home with him. Later that evening, one of the few normal parents sitting next to us leaned over and said, “Isn’t it wonderful not having Wild Child here? Don’t you wish Susan would have stayed home with him?”

One of the crafts tables we were responsible for required the use of a hot-glue gun. One of the high-pants mothers walked up and looked horrified. She gasped, “We don’t use hot-glue guns at home!” I suspect there are no steak knives, electric toothbrushes, staplers, or even hot water at her home either. I have this mental image of her kids all sitting on the plastic covered couch wearing football helmets while they listen to the radio (TV gives off radiation, hello). I wanted to send her over to the Parental Skills table, but instead she wandered over to supervise her husband at the Build Yourself A Spine table.

On the positive side, I guess it’s like getting free diversity training once a week. At least when I leave there I feel better about myself. Hopefully it won’t make me arrogant – Sally Struthers DID get fatter every time she went to Ethiopia….

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