Dear Friend,
It was a humid Maryland afternoon when I arrived at the Game and Fishing Club where my boys are spending this week in scout camp. The short walk from the field where I parked my car to the central lawn where the evening program was to take place sufficed to have my shirt sticking to my body. I almost envied those fathers tramping about the grounds in the uniforms of Boy Scout and Cub Scout leaders. But only for a minute. A surprising number of them actually wore twice the amount of fabric I had on, to cover their expansive midriffs.
We all had come for one purpose: to burn the American flag. And listen to our offsprings thespian abilities, or lack thereof, shine through in inane skits performed by their dens. In the center of the lawn, a suitable pyre had been prepared for the former activity.
As you may know, the only appropriate way to dispose of an American flag is to burn it in a proper Flag Retirement Ceremony. This year, a giant flag was slated for incineration - if you happen to watch the Baltimore Orioles on television, you may have seen it decorating the front of a high-rise in the background. A flag so big it took over 50 scouts to carry and unfold it.
A flag this large requires that it be cut into segments, one being the blue field with the stars, which - like the Union itself - cannot be further subdivided. The resulting quarters are then draped over aluminum poles and gently eased on top of the bonfire, which by then was roaring up into the haze.
The casual or foreign observer may be tempted to smirk at the apparent hokiness of the ritual, the occasional off-key squawk of the bugler, or the pale, knobby knees of the men and women in khaki shorts and tan uniform shirts. But what gets me time and time again is the eerie quiet in which this process unfolds. When two hundred boys, sweaty, dirty, exhausted from a day of shooting, fishing, and sports stand in absolute silence, two fingers at their forehead in the Boy Scout salute.
There are boys from every kind of family and ethnic background. White, whiter, black, Indian, Asian. Among the parents, you see anything from dark-burned roofers necks and torn T-shirts to designer shirts and ties. Theyre here because they want to be. Their boys are in Scouts not because a state has compelled them to join, but because theyve voluntarily chosen to be here.
Whoever is looking for a glimpse of Americas true commitment to its core values can find it in places and on occasions like this. These boys are the future.
And I like what I see.
