Brownie Points

I was a Brownie back in the late 60's.  I didn't have much of a choice about it- my mom probably thought it would be good for me, since I was painfully shy, and probably also wanted me out of the house (I was the oldest of 7 children by the first grade, and I could be a real pain.)  Anyway, I got my Brownie uniform and remember not being able to help getting excited about it all- I memorized my pledge (on my honor I will try to do my duty to god and my country to help other people at all times and to obey the girl scout laws.  Wow- I still know it!) I liked the accessories, the pocket scarf, the little brownie pin, the beanie, the badges. (I earned my first badge for cooking after remembering to unplug the hand mixer before removing the beaters.  A proud moment. To this day I don't even like to think of what could happen if you accidentally turned on your mixer at the same time you were taking off the beaters.  It would probably not be a pretty sight.)*

So, things were going fairly well, until the first meeting when our enthusiastic troop leader gave us a preview of the highlights of the upcoming year.  She finished with the announcement that we would end our first year as Brownies with the honor of marching in the Memorial Day Parade. Well, there was no way I was going to march in any parade.  I was way too shy to have so much attention focused on me- the idea was terrifying to my 6 year old mind.  So I decided that Brownies were not for me after all, and I would not be going back.

The problem with this was that I never told my mom. Instead I just said I didn't like Brownies, I didn't feel well, I cried, I begged.... But I never just came out and told her why I didn't want to go.  I have no idea why, other than maybe she would have just said, too bad, you're going anyway.  That's what parents did back then.  So, I went to the meetings and did enjoy myself, but kept thinking, I've got to find a way out of this before the end of May.  

There were a couple of other Brownie-related incidents that didn't help.  The first was when we did reverse paintings on glass as Christmas gifts for our families.  Mine was awesome- I can't remember what it was, just that it was definitely the best out of everyone's.  We had to carry them CAREFULLY to this big mantle that was over a fireplace in a community room we were using.  Then we were instructed to rest our little square of painted glass on the mantle, leaning against the wall.  Well, I was little, and it was hard to reach and my beautiful painting slipped out of my hands and smashed all over the floor. Tragedy.

Another time, my mother forgot to pick me up after our meeting. It was winter, so it was already getting dark by 4:00 when it ended.  She came about an hour late.  I stood in the cold and dark and vowed that I would never go to another Brownie meeting again.

Finally, as May loomed closer, I decided to just come out and tell my Mom what was bothering me.  And when I did, her reaction went something like this:  OK.  You don't have to march in the parade.So, after that I was fine with Brownies and even went on become a Girl Scout for a couple of years, until the weekend-cabin-sleep-over-from-hell.  But that's another story, probably better not shared, since it makes me look like even more of a whiny baby.

I thought of this story as I marched yesterday in the 4th of July parade in the little town where my school is.  I was very proud of myself- I wasn't one bit nervous.  I'm the one with the big hair(hot, humid day!)- I've really come a long way.

Look Mom, I'm marching in a parade!  I'm even shaking a pom-pom!

*Another Brownie high point was singing Christmas carols at Connie Francis' house.  She lived in my town.  That was also the first night I heard someone use the word "sexy."