I sit in the back of a small room. My eldest son stands in the front, straight backed and proud in his Cub Scout uniform. He's with his den mates, and a few other boys, waiting to introduce himself to a potential Boy Scout troop.
I fidget on my hard wooden bench. Hold my breath, just a little. He's first in line. Will he be able to speak up with confidence in front of this group of strangers?
A Boy Scout on the cusp of adulthood, with the hint of a beard on his chin, asks them a question.
"Please tell us your name, your school, and your favorite book."
My son's eyes light up. This could be his new home. These could be his new leaders. They just asked him about books.
"My name is Connor. My favorite book is Catching Fire."
Small noises of affirmation spread across the room. Heads nod, smiles spread. The next boy in line shares his favorite, and the nods and murmurs continue.
"Good choice." "I like that one, too."
The third boy mentions Harry Potter. Murmurs grow louder.
The teen Scout asks, "Which one?"
The boy responds, "I love them all."
More smiles, nods, and a buzz of energy spreads through the room. More boys share, more smiles spread. I make a mental note of the titles I haven't read.
My heart slows back down, and I smile to myself. Boys don't read? Clearly, this cluster of young men who will help guide younger boys into adulthood haven't gotten the memo.
My heart? It grew three sizes that day.
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