Mostly

When my little boy Lincoln was in Cub Scouts we were boon companions. I always took him to Cub Scouts myself and Cub Scouts was especially bonding for us. The slight regimentation, the little uniform, outdoorness, other boys, and arts and crafts were just what a boy his age loved and needed.

Near Thanksgiving one year, the last year he was with me, we arrived early at the church where our meetings were held. It happened to be a gorgeous night and, along with other Dads and sons, we hung outside for awhile. Though November, it was the kind of warm fragrant night that was suffused with energy, like a deep summer night, and the little boys ran around like a pack of dogs alternately chasing and being chased on the wide lawn. I was in the thick of it and was lucky that the Army had kept me in good shape. I became a Bear as I was the only Dad playing and as I chased the kids I would ‘accidentally’ stumble in the grass and all the little boys would then turn and ‘get’ me, piling upon me until I would recover and rise like a bear, growling and roaring so loudly and accurately that I scared the boys (and myself!), and the game would resume: back and forth. Lincoln loved this game as it was similar to a game we often played when we were alone, a game simply called Ninja Bear Fights. He was a Ninja, I was a Bear, and any patch of green grass was a field of honor ready for battle and grass-stained jeans.

Finally we went inside, chests heaving, and after the Pledge Of Allegiance and some preliminaries, the ScoutMaster described tonight’s craft project. The kid’s were to make turkeys for Thanksgiving, but with a twist. On the feathers of the turkey, front and back, the kids were to write with a marker the many things that they were grateful for. Awwww. . . What a nice Thanksgiving thing to do! The ScoutMaster gave some examples: your family, a nice home, your bedroom, Cub Scouts, maybe a favorite teacher at school or a favorite toy, etc. . .

Materials, glue, and scissors were handed out and the boys went at it. They cut out of construction paper the head, beak, feathers, affixed googly eyes, and wrote out their grateful things on the feathers and all this was to be affixed with glue to a little plastic cup.

I drifted back from the table for a little while and was making smalltalk with a couple of other Dads. Lincoln was at a table with a bunch of other little boys and after awhile I noticed the ScoutMaster talking to him. Lincoln looked a little confused and so I sauntered forward. The ScoutMaster was gently encouraging Lincoln to not write the same thing over and over on the feathers; on five of the six faces of the three feathers Lincoln had written “My Dad”.

I hadn’t noticed this and when I saw what had happened I was in shock. The ScoutMaster, now that I was in the conversation, looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, hoping for me to help him give Lincoln some encouragement to write something different at least on this last feather space. I remember that I had difficulty speaking, as my heart was being squeezed in sugar, but I mumbled something in agreement with the ScoutMaster. Little Lincoln looked up and scanned each of our faces, rapidly taking in data to figure out what to do. . . I can still see him glancing back and forth, trying to figure this adult conundrum out.

Well, the turkeys came out adorable as you’ve already guessed. I’ve kept Lincoln’s turkey ever since, it’s been about seven years now, and I even laminated it at one point as it was fragile and was getting beat up during the so many moves I’ve undergone since the divorce. I came upon it recently and reinstalled it atop a table in the place I moved into recently.

Oh, and what did Lincoln end up writing on that last side of that last feather?: “Mostly My Dad”