I’m Tack Bellenwood, also of Cincinnati, and, like Jeremy Miller, I am pulling my sons, Stape and Beck, out of Scouting. The boys have questioned my decision, and in response I’ve referred them to all those terrific Bible tales we’ve shared around the campfire.
At a September Jamboree, I told my troop about how the serpent tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden. “The serpent,” I said, “was, of course, a homosexual, and by offering Eve a bite of the apple he was obviously asking her to relocate to New York City, a homosexual mecca. The serpent wished to make Adam and Eve aware of their nakedness, so that they would want to purchase gaudy clothing, designed by homosexuals. The serpent, in fact, told the couple, ‘Nobody needs to see straight people naked.’ ”
When Stape asked me how I knew that the serpent was a homosexual, I explained that serpents resemble approaching penises, so the message is clear.
On another night, I spoke of Moses, who was a naïve Jewish boy acquired by a homosexual Pharaoh. “Because gay people can’t have children of their own, that’s how they reproduce,” I said. “To this day, all along the Eastern Seaboard, homosexuals wait in the bulrushes for wicker gift baskets containing exotic cheeses, yogurt-covered espresso beans, tins of English tea, and human infants. You can hear the homosexuals’ high-pitched squeals of deviant joy as they cry, ‘Look! I got this adorable miniature jug of maple syrup and a mixed-race baby!,’ and ‘Over here! I got flavored swizzlesticks, Jordan almonds, and twins!’ ”
Some Scouts have asked me for the specific chapters and verses that include the information that I refer to. I always congratulate these boys on their scholarship, and then I tell them that their questions sound really gay.
Sacred campfire lore can be every bit as exciting as those cheap, secular ghost yarns. One night, I spoke of Samson, and how Delilah cut his hair, so that he lost his mighty strength. “But what many people don’t know,” I said, “is that Delilah didn’t just cut Samson’s hair. She brought him to a fussy hut with window boxes, where a homosexual gave Samson what the homosexual called ‘subtle lowlights and a Weimar-schoolboy swoop.’ ”
“And then Samson died, right?” Stape said.
“But he looked so right now,” Beck commented.
“Stape, you’re correct,” I said. “And, Beck, why don’t you think about becoming a Brownie?”
Of course, I never in any way suggest that homosexuals were responsible for the death of Jesus, because that’s just not true. However, I did tell my troop, while we were learning to tie knots, “As Jesus was dying in agony for our sins, all the homosexuals were off writing the books for musicals.”
“Dad, do these knots look right?” Stape asked, having immobilized his brother.
“They’re great, son,” I said. “But, Beck, please stop moaning and smiling.”
Just before a troop summit, as I was showing my Scouts how to roll their neckerchiefs, I shared the story of Abraham, and how God tested him, by commanding him to sacrifice his son, Isaac.
“You mean God wanted Abraham to kill his own son?” Stape asked, horrified.
“Yessiree Bob,” I replied. “Because Isaac had told Abraham that he was thinking of applying to Northwestern, with a minor in Show Choir.”
“Look at me!” Beck said. “I’m an Amish lady on her way to market!”
“Get that neckerchief off your head,” I told him.
Finally, one recent midnight, as all my Scouts were gathered around the campfire, proudly displaying their latest merit badges, I took the opportunity to discuss the relationship between David and his good friend Jonathan. “Now, some people—some sad, dangerous people,” I began, “like to imply that David and Jonathan were more than just desert buddies.”
“Is it because of their names?” Beck asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And because David liked to compose verses describing Jonathan’s amber eyes, and because he also wrote poetry about the burnished glow of Jonathan’s flesh. I’m warning you, Beck, stop fanning yourself.”
“Did David really do that?” Stape asked, looking apprehensive.
“Yes. But what many people don’t know,” I continued, “is that David was simply composing an ancient personal ad, so that Jonathan could meet a pious virgin and marry her.”
“So the songs and the poems were like Jonathan’s merit badges,” Beck said.
“That’s exactly right!” I said, pleased and secretly relieved that Beck seemed to be getting back on track.
“Look at all of my new merit badges,” Beck went on, pointing to various emblems on his sash. “I’ve got badges in Graphic Design, Performance Art, Choosing a Blazer, Creating an Asymmetrical Tablescape, and Flirting.”
“Um, are those regulation badges?” I asked.
“They are now,” said Beck, who was wearing his sash over his Speedo, for what he announced was “the swimsuit competition.”
“Dad, do we really have to quit Scouting?” Stape asked.
“Right now,” I said. ♦
