To Kill A Mockingbird Eulogy For Help

Help! Help! Boy Scout Down. I was a proud member of Troop 7, in the Town of Saint James, which I have mentioned previously, or perhaps subsequently. My patrol leader was Joe Delaya, who was probably only one to two years older than me, but seemed, to me, to be an age of authority. We had our scarce meetings at his house, which was a large beat up house located right next to the rail road tracks. It looked to be of age from the early suburban sprawl era. It was surrounded by a yard of hard dirt, dotted with surviving tufts of weed infused patches of grass. The inside was representative of its exterior, being messy, cluttered and confused. It had a menagerie of characters coming, going and hanging out. I wasn’t quite clear of their

Outside the house’s boundaries, Joe was all fun and games and hilarity. But inside, he seemed suppressed when in an occupied room. Most of our meetings were commenced outside. When breaching the inside worlds of others, you never know what you’ll find lurking. Your assumptions that everyone’s world is the same as yours can be shattered. Some of your friends wear a temporary mask when you’re out playing; going to school, and having Boy Scout meetings. They escape within the mask, but when they return home they have to hang it up by the door. Whoa, getting a bit heavy. Let’s lighten things up and strive a tad for levity. Boy Scouts have an award system were you get “Merit Badges” for various actions your complete. Shit like knot tying, archery, first aid, and promising not to masturbate, (Nah! That last one wasn’t one. No one would ever earn a merit badge for that one.) And one of them was the five mile hike. (“Shit, that’s goin’ to ignite my chubby

It was just him and me and we hiked from my house to Friendly’s Family Restaurant in Smithtown and back. When at Friendly’s of course we had to refuel for our journey back. So fries and a Fribble it was. Mummm! Nothing like a gallon of heifer lactated vanilla milk shake and fat drenched fries for chubby kid energy. (Side story: When I got up to piss, I left my Fribble unattended on the counter. When I returned and proceed to slurp my Fribble, Joe kept asking me, “How does it taste?” Perplexed, I said, “Fine.” When I got to the bottom and discovered something was amiss. Joe–the bastard–put some catsup in it. “Ha ha!” I said, as he laughed hysterically.) Now it was time for our sojourn home. Slowly trudging east along on the shoulder of Route 25 we got bored. We found an old red construction flag and tied it to long stick. I then lay down on grass on the side of the road while Joe waved the distress flag. Yeah, as if a boy scout was just mauled by a grizzly or bitten by a rattle snake…in Smithtown. A driver stopped and we explained we were just stupid ass kids fucking around, and then we felt like stupid shits when the driver whole heartily agreed, and verbalized