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The below article was passed to me by a fellow scouter who said it appeared in the Wall Street Journal in mid. April, 1997. The article was written by Benjamin J. Stein. I now pass it on to you.
Our son Tommy, age nine, is a fairly typical spoiled child. He's an angel, to be sure, but a spoiled angel, usually unable or unwilling to clean up after himself, frequently interrupting adults, casually rude in such ways as not holding doors for adults or even his parents. He's also chronically unable to concentrate, not because of Attention Deficit Disorder, but probably because of IPD, Indulgent Parents Disorder. This has all begun to change in an almost miraculous fashion this school year. At Tommy's school, a Reform Jewish day school (with many other boys who are just as spoiled as Tommy), a representative of the Cub and Boy Scouts appeared one evening in September. He talked a little about Scouting, showed off his cool uniform and asked who wanted to join. Three boys and their parents did, of whom Tommy Stein and I were a part. We were given a list of uniform items he needed and a book of Webelos knowledge (Webelos, acronym for We'll Be Loyal Scouts, is between Boy and Cub Scouts in age, and that's what Tommy is). I was prepared for Tommy to rapidly put Scouting aside, as he so often does with new unearned elements of his life. But I am happy to say he did not. From the first moment of his first meeting, Tommy threw himself enthusiastically into his tasks. He read his book-including, in keeping with the times, the parts about child sex abuse. Then he learned about tying knots of different kinds. Next, with utmost gravity, he and a fellow Webelos learned how to fold the flag exactly right. He stood in the hallway of his school, at night, in utter concentration folding it, tongue clenched between his teeth, until he had it perfect, and then, with a two-finger salute, he handed it to Kay, the den mother. When he got his uniform-in which he looks smashing beyond words-he became even more enthusiastic. He makes sure it's pressed, has no crumbs on it, that his scarf is hanging right, that his Cub Scout clasp is facing the right way, even that his shoes are clean and tied neatly. He practices his salute through the week. He stands in his room and says the Cub Scout motto over and over, snapping off a salute as he does. He has memorized vast amounts of his book and quotes them back to me every chance he has. At meetings, which I also attend, he is attentive and helpful. He never interrupts Kay, the den mother, and when another boy interrupts, Tommy says, "Cub Scouts don't interrupt!" He voluntarily stays to clean up after meetings. When the other boys are slow to pitch in, Tommy says, "Cub Scouts are helpful," and shames them into picking tip litter. One night, as another boy knocked over traffic cones in the parking lot, Tommy followed him and righted the cones. I can only compare this to, say, Axl Rose staying after his concerts to pick up empty Cups and sweep the floors. When Tommy and I go out to the store, if he does not help me with the groceries, I simply say to him, "Tommy, a Scout is helpful." Without any argument, he corrects me, saying, "A Cub Scout is courteous," and takes a bag of groceries to the car-with no whining, a totally new approach for him. At dinner, when he interrupts Mommy or me, I say, "Tommy, do Scouts interrupt?" and he stops interrupting. When he leaves his lights on in his room when he's not in it, I can now say, 'Tommy, do Scouts waste electricity?" and he goes back to turn off the juice. It gets better. When we go places with Tommy in his Scout uniform, men and boys talk to Tommy about their Scouting experience. At Thai Beer, a restaurant in Hollywood, a Thai waiter with tears in his eyes took out photos of himself in an Eagle Scout uniform at a Jamboree in Bangkok 15 years ago. At Chalet Gourmet, the rock 'n' roll grocery store and deli in West Hollywood, rockers in black leather snap off Webelos salutes to him and tell them about their Scouting days. At the Wherehouse Music Store just a few yards from where men are dealing rock cocaine in Hollywood, middle-aged shoppers break into big smiles and talk to us about their days at the campfire long ago. When he's in his uniform, Tommy is part of a great and ancient international fraternity. Tommy actually looks these people in the face, talks to them responsively and salutes when he leaves them. Again, this is new behavior for Tommy. I know Tommy, which means that I do not know how long this miracle will last. I also don't know what's caused it-pride in the uniform (he acts totally better in uniform than in any other garb, as if the dignity and regularity of the uniform imparted itself to his soul), the challenge of the new, maybe just plain old discipline and structure, which are often lacking in his life. But I know that since last fall, we have begun seeing in Tommy hints of the responsible, committed boy we always wanted to see. He's always been sweet and devoted and clever. In Scouting, he's beginning to be a leader, to share, to take direction, to have some sense of duties to others. Call it the magic of Scouting. He needed it and so did his parents. Mr. Stein is an actor, law teacher and writer in Los Angeles.  Please send me your comments, suggestions, additions, and requests.
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