Walking a Mile

It started out as a project for our scouting den in order to earn a merit badge. But by the time it was over — it was so much more — that it got my ass kicked.

There was a particular family which lived in the Glen. Their home had no electricity, or phone service and what running water they had, was cold.

All their meals were cooked over an open flame from the fire pit built into their front room. It’s also the place that they slept as it was also the warmest place in the house, especially during the winter months.

To many people, they were poor — and at the time I thought the same. That’s why I was excited when it was decided we should help this family by providing them with boxes of food jus’ before the Thanksgiving holiday.

It was amazing to see that every boy in our den had filled two “banana boxes,” full of non-perishable foods to be delivered a week or so ahead of the holiday. The plan was simple — we’d load up Dad’s truck and with a caravan in tow — drop the food off at their home, shake hands and leave.

The plan went off without a hitch — until the following day at school. That’s when the oldest boy, who was a grade ahead of me, singled me out and beat the crap out of me, leaving me sitting in the corner of the restroom.

He was angry that I had embarrassed him by bringing the food to his home. He knew Dad was the area scout master and thus, concluded it was my fault that his family was humiliated by such a unneccessary gift.

Until that day, it never occurred to me to look at such a situation from the eyes of the person I thought I was helping. Turns out walking a mile in someone else’s moccasins — has two meanings.

It’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten.