F-TROOP

I’ll bet it’s not too difficult picking me out of Sheriff Lester Almstadt’s line-up. My Cub Scout uniform was always neatly ironed, not a wrinkle, compliments of my mother. She even pressed and folded my bvd’s before putting them in my underwear drawer. She cut my hair too. Not that that made me photogenic. Let’s just say I was in the early toe-head Moe phase (think “The Three Stooges”) of my childhood. My dad, the disciplinarian of our family, constantly reminded me to stand up straight and show them you’re a leader. He led by example, volunteering as the local Boy Scout treasurer until a couple of parents ripped him off—Hey, can I pay for the canoe trip on Monday? I’m short on cash, I’ll make it up to you. I soon learned that the Boy Scouts of America hadn't been about honesty and loyalty; it had been about fathers designing their sons’ aerodynamic balsa wood derby cars and filling them full of weights to guarantee victory. And, in my case, it meant quitting the organization in disgust because my dad couldn’t collect on the mounting debts; He was shortchanged one time too many.

So which Cub Scout am I? Look closer. Old Sheriff Lester Almstadt and the den mother kept a watchful eye on the shady character on the end. He’s holding up a sheet of paper with some obscure message handprinted on it. Is he being held against his will and crying out for help? Or is he practicing for the day he will enter the Michigan Department of Correction’s intake area? Prisoners, afterall, come from all walks of life. I even knew an inmate nicknamed Boy Scout. He couldn’t understand why he was incarcerated, his explanation, I paid every one of those kids to let me touch them.

By now you should’ve picked me out of Sheriff Lester Almstadt’s line-up. Or at least narrowed it down to the studious boy on the other end, faithfully holding his notebook to his chest. I had already mentioned my uniform, so you can rule out the kid in civilian clothing—he could’ve at least closed the barn door or covered it with a notebook, like the other ununiformed kid, before posing with our troop. Also, there’s no way I would’ve had a lollipop in my mouth for such an important event, or stood on the outer edges of my shoes. No. I stood at attention, not knowing, that one day I would fight crime from within.