Radio Sweethearts

I’m beginning to believe that NPR feeds off the tears of its listeners.

It’s been a while since this happened, but I’m just now over the massive emotional impact of this story.

Kerry and I were moving to our current apartment the weekend that Tim Russert died. On Saturday morning, I was listening to “Weekend Edition Saturday” while driving back to the old apartment to get the last few loads.

The second I turned left onto Cooper, for the mile and a half back to the old place, I gasped, because I knew it was about to hit: Scott Simon launched right for my tear ducts by saying this: “Tim Russert would understand why the deaths we have to talk about this week are those of four young men who died in Iowa.”

He proceeded to pay some serious tribute to the Boy Scouts who died when a tornado ripped through an Iowa Boy Scout camp.

He called society out for making fun of Boy Scouts, for making fun of their earnesty and genuine respect for people.

I tried fighting it. I really tried to hold it in. But when Simon praised these young men for their “poise and bravery,” I couldn’t. I cried like I haven’t cried in years. While trying to drive on a very busy street in Memphis. I felt ridiculous.

So I started laughing, too. Which made me cry harder. I could barely see where I was driving.

Curse you, Scott Simon. You made me almost have a car wreck.

I almost had it pulled together, but then he cued up the Byrds’ version of Bob Dylan’s “My Back Pages,” a song about how idealism fades along with youth.

The tears came back out. I managed to get back to our old apartment, where I parked next to Kerry; she saw me weeping, and wasted no time in starting to make fun of me.

But what I took away was this:

I used to be a Boy Scout. I used to be thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent, and all that. As I’ve grown up since then, I’ve discovered things that are more important to me than camping, knowing knots, and maintaining the Circle of Safety when using knives.

Overall, the practicalities of day-to-day life have won out over my youthful idealism. I’ve not grown hard, exactly, but probably more than a little cynical. I think, maybe, the best way to pay tribute to the fallen Boy Scouts would be to acknowledge the lives they led by getting back some, if not all of that idealism.

Preferably without the stupid uniform.

 photo credits:

• top: “Public Domain: Weeping as Germans March into Paris, June 1940 (NARA)” via Pingnews’ Flickr
• bottom: “United Nations Fight for Freedom: colored, white and Chinese Boy Scouts in front of Capitol, They help out by delivering poster to help the war effort (LOC)” from the Library of Congress’ Flickr