A Boy And His Camping Tool

As a young lad of seven, I fell in with a gang of wicked junior reprobates. Absolutely no girls were allowed into this group. Initiation rituals were required to be completed by inductees prior to admission; acceptance into the crew allowed members the privilege of wearing the confederacy’s “colors” and specific ‘hood designations.

 As a young lad of seven, I fell in with a gang of wicked junior reprobates.

Absolutely no girls were allowed into this group. Initiation rituals were required to be completed by inductees prior to admission; acceptance into the crew allowed members the privilege of wearing the confederacy’s “colors” and specific ‘hood designations.

We held secretive small-group gatherings every week, augmented by larger, full-chapter clandestine indoctrination sessions once each month.

The optimum age for recruitment was seven or eight years, when the subject’s mind was still free of clutter and open to manipulation and inducement.

We carried knives, received training in the use of such weapons as hatchets and rope, and were taught myriad ways to start and utilize fire (even without matches).

One of the most common, and earliest, items we learned to make was the pointed stick, potentially a weapon capable of dastardly devilry.

Upon being allowed to wear the colors, I was awarded my very own knife, replete with several blades of varying sizes and uses; a screwdriver; can and bottle opener; and fold-out fork and spoon — should there be an unforeseen silverware shortage.

The entire utensil was small enough to fit into any second grade dude’s pants pocket.

Because it was a Cub Scout knife.

And the “gang” which I had joined was the Cub Scouts, the junior division of the Boy Scouts of America.

I had willingly and enthusiastically become a member of an organization that would teach me how to help and honor my community, family, church, school, etc., through activities of a shocking nature, stealthily referred to as “good deeds.”

My assimilation into this horrendous conclave was approved fully by my parents.

Once I had gotten that tool known as a “Cub Scout knife,” I never left home without it — until I turned 11, “graduated” to the Boy Scouts, and replaced such a childish implement with the larger, more potent Boy Scout knife.

That, too, I carried with me everywhere, until it became clear when I was in seventh grade that engaging in Boy Scoutism was symptomatic of being uncool.

As to the typical Cub Scout knife, the main blade was about as dull as a cheap steak knife; the only damage to any living human being came on the several occasions I clumsily closed it on my own fingers.

As for the other blades and accessories, they proved handy on numerous occasions, such as when my bicycle needed a quick fix, or a bit of rust had to be scraped away from a spigot, I got thirsty, and so on.

I cannot remember ever actually eating with the fork or spoon, but I’m certain that they were put to good use at some point.

There undoubtedly were several instances when Sister Mary Frustrated saw me with the tool and took it away, but, because it was an official Scout knife and associated with my sanctioned posse, at the end of the day my doohickey was returned along with the strong suggestion I keep it in my pocket on school grounds.

Now, let us fast-forward 50 years, to Newark — a city in Delaware, one of the original 13 Colonies that chose detachment from the oppression of the King in favor of freedom.

Zachary Christie, a six-year-old first grader in the Christina School District, had just become a member of the Cub Scouts; as such, he was presented with an official Cub Scout camping tool, aka knife.

The child, who is described by his mother, Debbie, as such a serious student he sometimes wears a suit and tie to school, was so excited about becoming a Scout that he brought his new utensil to use at lunch.

Because young Zachary was in violation of Christina’s zero tolerance policy that bans knives being carried by students, this innocent child has been suspended.

The district’s solution to such a ghastly breach by this evil six-year-old is a 45-day stint at its reform school.

Reform school!

Once again, utter madness raises its ugly head in the form of a “zero tolerance policy” that blankets every student, no matter what age, for any minor offense, however slight.

The rationale behind this unreasonably preposterous position was elucidated by George Evans, Christina school board president: “There is no parent who wants to get a phone call where they hear that their child no longer has two good seeing eyes because there was a scuffle and someone pulled out a knife.”

Yes, he invoked the all-encompassing classic “You’ll shoot/poke your eye out” defense of being too lazy or ignorant to deal with each student and situation on an individual basis.

Any student is equally as capable of poking out someone’s eye with a pencil or pen, or scissors, or any one of a number of potential “weapons” that can be found in any classroom at any given time; hell, the plastic knife or spork issued to kids in any school cafeteria could be used to produce some sort of permanent damage.

School administrators, from classroom teachers to principals, need to have the leeway to treat each infraction on a case-by-case basis. Even residents of the Christina district are dismayed that there is no room for discretion within the school itself.

Let’s face it — most of these inane policies are decided upon by school boards that are composed not of educators, rather, they’re made up of local politicians of the lowest order, egoistic do-gooders who could never get elected to anything as lofty as an aldermanic seat, or even dog catcher.

And far too many of the ersatz “educators” who spend all day, 200 or days each year with your children, haven’t a clue as to how to deal with the least little ripple in the waters of absolute conformity.

Mr. Evans’ statement is all the more absurd when one takes into account that this is a six-year-old kid who is nothing but studious and sweet.

He takes karate lessons, so the last thing he would do is pull a weapon on an adversary; the student of martial arts is far more likely to avoid an altercation than most children.

Not only that, but I sincerely doubt another child engaging young Zachary in pugilism is going to wait patiently during the minute or so it would take the boy to reach into his pocket or backpack, find and remove the knife, then work his little fingers to expose the blade.

Overreaction by school officials to a minor error is the best way to insure a student will learn to distrust, even hate, the system. As I’ve written before, zero tolerance = zero sense, and a huge deterrent to the love of education.

Anyone who wishes to come to Zachary’s aid can do so by visiting the Website his mother has created, helpzachary.com.

With far more insight than the adults who have created this monstrous bastardization of jurisprudence, Zachary expressed his trepidation regarding a return to school thusly: “I just think the other kids may tease me for being in trouble, but I think the rules are what is wrong, not me.”

Shalom.

(Erstwhile Philosopher and former Educator Jerry Tenuto is a veteran who survived, somewhat emotionally intact, seven years in the U.S. Army. Despite a penchant for late-night revelry, he managed to earn BS and MA Degrees in Communications from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. On advice from a therapist, he continues to bang out his weekly “Out Of The Blue” feature in The Lone Star Iconoclast — providing much-needed catharsis. Jerry is also licensed to perform marriage ceremonies in 45 states.)