My first official meeting provided a glimpse of how my future would roll out, militarily speaking of course.
Our initial order was to memorize was "the code":
I promise to do my best,
To love and serve God, to do my duty to the Queen;
To keep the law of the Wolf Cub pack,
And to do a good turn for somebody every day.
Dib dib, dub dub , Akeila we will do our best.
Being something of an idiot, that last line cracked me up and I didn't exactly snicker. I busted out laughing and after a second or two, my fellow neophytes followed suit. This was met with sneers of disdain from the "real Cubs" and I received an immediate dressing down from the Scout-In-Charge. Despite my best efforts, I could not stop laughing and I was told to leave.
I was allowed to return the next week and I managed to get through that session unscathed. Actually, it was a lot of fun. The Scout-In-Charge explained the idea of merit badges and how to earn them. Before you could earn merit badges, you had to earn two stars, or "eyes" to display on your cap. Once you had "both eyes open", you were not only considered a true Cub Scout, you were well on your way to becoming an actual Boy Scout!
Within a month or two I'd earned my first star and I displayed it proudly on my cap. By this time the other newbies had earned both stars and they were working on their initial merit badges. I was so enamoured with my initial star, I really wasn't in much of a hurry to get the second one. This infuriated Scout-In-Charge and he finally called me out on my lack of effort in front of the entire troop. When I told Scout-In-Charge I was pretty much set on being a one-eyed pirate Cub, my journey ended.
By the time I was 12, two of my older brothers were serving in the Canadian Navy and they urged me to join the Navy Cadets. I didn't really care for their odd little hats so, with their blessing, I opted for the Canadian Army Cadets.
On our first week we received our uniforms, a general introduction speech and we viewed a short film about Cadet Camp in Vernon, B.C. I became very excited. Ten whole days away from my parents and that camp looked like it kicked butt!
In the week leading up to the next session, my brother Tom showed me how to prepare and wear the uniform and of utmost importance, how to "hot spoon" and polish my boots until I could actually see my reflection in them. Tom then drove me to the local barber where I received a genuine military brush cut. I was unimpressed with the new hairdo but whatever, I was on my way to Camp "No-Oldies-For-10-Days"!
At my second session I met an actual Army Captain and he complimented me on my "authentic appearance". I joined my first drill exercise virtually walking on air, but this elation ended quickly.
I grew up in a suburban neighbourhood where all the houses were built within a year or two of one another and the area was rife with kids my age. This made for a terrific childhood as everyone, including me, had 10 or 15 "best friends"! Of course there were exceptions.
Every neighborhood had at least one kid who whined about everything, didn't really like anybody and generally set about making everyone around him miserable. We had Billy Markeen.
Billy's family was well off. He always had the nicest bike, the latest clothes and comic books, gobs of candy, tons of spending money and an overall "I'm way better than you" attitude. He also had a habit of picking fights, then calling on one or both of his older brothers to finish them up.
So, imagine my horror when I found out our "Staff Seargent/Drill Coordinator" was none other than Billy freaking Markeen.
I stood in the back row, hoping he'd either ignore or not see me. Of course that didn't happen. Upon eye contact, Staff Sgt. Markeen summoned me "front and centre". He slowly circled, his little wooden staff at the ready. He barked, "Straighten your hat!" and emphasized his directive with a tap on my shoulder. "Watch the stick, Markeen", I whispered. "THAT'S STAFF SERGEANT MARKEEN!" he shrieked.
"Pull in your gut!" was his next directive, punctuated with a poke to my belly. "Don't do that again", I warned.
When Markeen drew back his stick once more, I plucked it from his hand, knocked his hat off with it, flipped it across the room and walked away. The last thing I recall is Staff Seargent/Drill Coordinator Markeen screaming, "GET THE HELL BACK HERE, HAMILTON!" That didn't happen.
In that moment it occurred to me; perhaps a career in the military would not be part of my future. As the years passed, I realized I could take directives and instruction as well as anyone. Orders? Not so much.
