The following excerpt comes from a book of essays written by former Boy Scouts who were asked to leave the organization following either accusations or open admissions of homosexuality. The book is due out this August and will be titled Living Outside the Scout Law. This particular excerpt tells the story of John Cooper, a heterosexual Boy Scout camp counselor who was fired after video footage of an embarrassing incident in the camp’s boat house. The essay is titled “A Face Full of Humiliation, or, How the Boy Scouts Ruined My Life.”
I’m not proud of what happened, I’ll admit it. It was quite possibly the single most embarrassing moment of my entire life and as soon as it was over, I really, really, REALLY just wanted to run away from that boat house as quickly as possible and forget I had ever been there. But apparently the humiliation of falling face first into another man’s crotch wasn’t enough. Apparently, on top of everything, I have to get fired for my supposed homosexuality.
Here’s how it went down. Just a few moments of pure and total and complete humiliation. One of my campers, too busy burping the alphabet to pay attention to my instructions, had forgotten to grab a life vest before our canoe trip. So I headed into the boat house, greeting my fellow counselor Dave. That’s when it happened. I’m not sure exactly what I tripped over, but I think it was an oar. All I know is that one minute I’m asking Dave if he hit it on his date last night and the next minute I’m falling face forward into his crotch and grabbing onto the only thing I could find to stabilize myself: his ass. To top it all off Dave’s only reaction was to let out what sounded suspiciously like a moan and stabilize himself on the only thing he could find: my head. It was the single most embarrassing event of my life. I barely even managed to mumble a “sorry, man” before I grabbed a life vest and ran out of the boat house.
The rest of the day, I focused all of my energy on forgetting what had happened and avoiding Dave. I only had about five minutes left to my day before I could head out, meet up with my girlfriend Tiffany, who worked at the nearby Girl Scouts camp, and prove my manhood to her and to myself. But just as I was saying goodbye to my campers and picking up my wallet and car keys, my supervisor came up to me and asked to see me in his office.
“Listen, John, I have something pretty disturbing to talk to you about. You’ll want to sit down for this one,” he said as soon as I got into his office.
So I sat down and patiently waited while he clicked away on his computer. Then, without saying anything, he turned around the monitor and hit play. And there I was, face full of Dave’s crotch, hand on his ass, while he moaned and grabbed onto my head.
“You know the Boy Scout policy on homosexuality, John. We’re going to have to let you go.”
“Where did you get this footage?” I asked.
“We installed a security camera in the boat house this summer after we heard rumors about counselors going there to fool around. I had hoped that it was all within the bounds of heterosexuality, but I was sadly mistaken,” he said.
“That’s right! I lost it to Tiffany in there! Do you have that footage? Please tell me you have that footage.”
“Listen, son, there’s no point in pretending we don’t know about your perversion. I haven’t watched the rest of the footage, because it is too disgusting even for me. I went through a pretty hardcore porn addiction in my 20s, but it’s pretty damning evidence. Claiming that you once had sex with a woman won’t save you now. I can’t unknow what was in that footage. You clearly love having sex with men and I can’t risk having you around the boys anymore. The Boy Scout’s policy on homosexuality is clear. I want you cleared out of your room by the time the boys come back from dinner. I can’t have you near them anymore.”
I left in a haze. I never found out what happened to Dave, but I’m assuming it was the same for him: immediate termination. The worst part of that afternoon, as much as it seems to degrade my “no, I swear I’m straight” argument, was not getting to say goodbye to my boys. I mean, yeah, ok, they could be a bunch of little dipshits, pardon my French, but then they would turn around and do something amazing, like burping the alphabet, and I would forget how much they had annoyed me five minutes ago. I loved those kids.
Things didn’t get better from there, though. Oh no, it wasn’t just a quick, “oh you’re fired from your summer job, check if the local eatery is hiring bus boys” deal. Everyone found out. Tiffany dumped me, claiming that she had always sensed that I was “a little bit disgusted by her vagina.” My mailman started passing me love letters heavily laced with innuendos about slipping his hot, steamy man mail into my slot. My parents even looked into sending me to one of those gay re-education places where they show you gay porn and electrocute your testicles. Eventually I dodged that bullet by claiming it would cut into my first semester at college.
Overall, it was the worst possible outcome of what honestly amounted to an innocent fall into some man’s crotch. I’m still recovering; my parents are still leaving brochures about homosexuality and hellfire on my pillow and I can’t seem to get laid to save my life. All girls want to do is take me shopping so I can help them find the perfect mix of “classy and slutty” or sometimes, if I’m lucky, they’ll take me out dancing and rub up against me a little since they “don’t have to worry that I’ll hit on them anymore.” So I’d like to end this with a quick thanks to the Boy Scouts of America. Thanks for ruining my life with your ridiculous homophobic policies, thanks for being on such a gay witch hunt that you fire perfectly capable counselors over one humiliating moment, thanks for putting your politics before the needs of the boys in your organization. It really means a lot.
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