Brownies

She says she wants to be a Brownie and I have a pretty strong suspicion why. Afterall, we don't know anyone who belongs to the organization and they don't advertise on Noggin. So my guess is that she's free associating Brownie with chocolate and cookies. Imagining herself as the highest ranking troop member and princess of all things chocolate. What I must remember to tell her, before the first meeting is that... she's wrong. Another, more sadistic side of me wants to let her find out for herself, like I did.

Completely unaware of free will at the tender age of eight and working on the presumption that I could learn to be an outdoorsy type, I did my best to be honest and fair, friendly and helpful, considerate and caring, courageous and strong. Still, I never felt completely comfortable as a Brownie. There was always this feeling of not quite belonging. I wore the uniform, participated in the events, but was still oddly out of place, you know, like a nun playing baseball. I know there where things that I must have liked about the organization, but for the life of me, I can't name even one now. My affiliation earned me props in the local paper at least twice. My Dorothy Hammill haircut preserved for eternity in my scrapbook and the microfiche of the Unger Memorial Library in Plainview, Texas. I even recall the anxiety of going door to door asking total strangers if they would buy a box of cookies, and then taking it much too personally when they said no. To this day, I ALWAYS buy a box of cookies from any girl who asks me.

So, will I sign her up for the local troop this fall? You bet! Will I tell her about my memories of it? On my Honor....I will.