Barry Bonds probably hit another home run last night. Now, I know I’m going to ruffle a few feathers when I say this, but, Big deal! Another run. Yawn, hooray, ho-hum. It will be in the papers and discussed on sports talk shows, I’m sure. The guy is a real hero, right? A couple of years ago at summer camp, I met another hero. He was a very small 13-year-old. And he was a very homesick Scout.
“Big deal,” I hear someone out there echoing my comment, “a little wimp who can’t stand to leave his mommy.” That’s a pretty insensitive thing to say to a kid whose feelings are tearing him up to the point of crying in front of his friends—a kid who probably hates himself for being weak and feeling homesick. To make things worse we were at the base camp for our annual canoe trip on the rain-swollen Kippewa River in Canada and more than one boy (and leader) was having second thoughts. The homesick Scout came to me as we were loading the canoes. “Mr. Sterrett, I don’t think I want to go. I think I want to go home,” he said. When he had made similar comments the night before, the other Scouts and leaders had joked and tried to distract him. But there comes a time when a boy has to either go forward or back.
We walked away from the others and I put my hand on his shoulder. “In five minutes, we’ll be leaving,” I said, “You can be in the canoe with us or you can be in the truck going back.” And then, oh, how hard it was to do—I walked away and left him to his thoughts.
He came with us on the trip. A couple of his buddies gave him a friendly punch on his shoulder, but nobody cheered. His accomplishment wasn’t printed in the papers or discussed on talk shows. Now, Bonds—he’s okay. But to me, that Scout is a special kind of hero. The quiet kind.
