Rover Explorer Scouts Association

Traditional & Quality Rover Scouting

Scouter's Stories, & Prose

A Boy Scout After a male child has grown out of long sleeps, and triangles, and has acquired pants, freckles, and so much dirt, that relatives don't care to kiss it between meals, it becomes a boy.
What is a Boy? Between the innocence of baby hood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature called a Boy.

A boy is nature's answer to the belief that there is something as viable as perpetual motion.

If he then were to join the boy scouts, life would be fast but bearable, for all who know him.

A Boy Scout can run like a deer, swim like a fish, climb like a squirrel, baulk like a mule, bellow like a bull, eat like a pig, or act like a jackass, according to climatic conditions.

The world is so full of boy Scouts that it is impossible to touch off a firework, strike up a band, or bowl a Cricket ball, kick a foot ball, without collecting hundreds of them.

Boy Scouts are not ornamental - they are useful.
If it were not for Boy Scouts, the newspaper would go undelivered and unread and thousands of picture shows would go bankrupt.

A Boy is a natural spectator. He watches parades, fires, fights, fast ball games, auto-mobiles, and planes with equal fervour.
However, he will not watch a clock except at school.

However a Boy Scout; Will join parades, light fires, avoid fights, play fast ball games, learn about auto-mobiles, and planes with equal and immense fervour.

A boy Scout will not watch a clock but make best use of his time always.

A Boy Scout is a piece of skin stretched over an appetite. However, he eats only when he is awake.

Boy Scouts imitate their Scout Masters, Dads, Thus incurs all and takes on board all efforts to teach them good manners.

You can absolutely rely on a Boy Scout, if you know what to expect, they are very durable.

A Boy Scout, if not washed too often, and if kept in a cool, quiet place after each accident, will survive broken bones, hornet nests, swimming holes, and five helpings of pie and ice-cream.

Boy Scouts like to trade things. They'll trade fish hooks, marbles, broken knives, and snakes, for anything that is priceless or worthless.

When a boy grows up he'll trade puppy love, energy, warts, bashfulness, and a cast iron stomach for a bay window, pride, ambition, pretence, and a bald head, and will immediately begin to say that "boys aren't what they used to be in the good old days."

Don't let this happen to you - as a Boy Scout, the ten scout laws are paramount and one should keep them all ones days

Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colours, but all boys have the same creed:
To enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise - their only weapon - when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night.

Boys are found everywhere - on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them, and Heaven protects them.

A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its finger, wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise.

When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly, or else he becomes a savage, sadistic jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.

A boy is a composite - he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket sized atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of Robin Hood, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a damp fire fire work, and when he makes something he has five thumbs to each hand.

He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water [in its natural habitat], not I might add in a sink with soap, large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings, and fire engines.

He is not much for Sunday school, company, school, books without pictures, music lessons, necktie's, girls, barbers, overcoats, adults, or bedtime.

Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket one rusty knife, a half eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty McDonald's bag, two pear drops, fifty pees, a sling shot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic code ring with a secret compartment.

A boy is a magical creature - you can lock him out of your workshop but you can't lock him out of your heart. You can lock him out of your study but you can't get him out of your mind.

Might as well give up - he is your captor, your jailer, your boss, and your master - a freckle faced, pint sized, cat chasing bundle of noise.

But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them like new with the two magical words,

"Hi, Dad!"

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