Reminiscence: What I Regret NOT Doing

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1

If I remember correctly, the Hiking merit badge was all that stood in the way of my achieving the lofty ranks of the Eagle Scout in the summer before junior high school. (This of course preceded the national organization’s having taken its anti-gay stand.)  Not that the Hiking badge was required of everyone. I believe I had selected it from several alternatives. Hiking in this case meant walking, not climbing. I would probably not have chosen Climbing.

To be accepted into my troop two years before, like the other boys I had to promise to work my way up to the Eagle rank, and the troop did have the best record in our Council for the number of Eagle Scouts each year. My troop leader was named Kidd, and among ourselves we called him “Captain.” He was relentless reminding us how far we had to go in order to fulfill our promise.

All I had to do for the Hiking merit badge was to complete a certain number of walks of varying lengths. The first was probably a half-mile, and the last – as I remember more clearly – was ten miles. Mother would take me to a largely deserted spot just outside of town, and we would measure on the odometer the requisite distances. Then she would take me back to the spot where we had begun and let me out. On the shorter trips, of course, she would just wait for me – usually parked under a shady tree – until I arrived.

We fussed about my shoes and socks. As a precaution, she put Band-Aids on my heels and outside toes, to help prevent blisters. I carried my Scout canteen filled to the brim with that good-tasting tap water we had in my city.

I think Mother timed my walk for the first one-mile trek, so that she could estimate when I would likely arrive at the end of the remaining walks and go about her business in the meantime. I wore my school watch with the muted yellow-green cloth wristband, so I could know when to expect her to return for me.

At this gap of time, I don’t even remember the shorter so-called hikes; they were probably just around our neighborhood. In those days, I seemed to walk constantly from one friend’s house to another’s anyway – trying to set up a football or baseball game among several of us – so the first walks must have seemed pretty normal.

Mother was in charge of filling out a little form for each hike, with the date, distance, time of departure and time of arrival. We would both sign each form. The idea was, as it had been the summer before, that when the troop started meeting again in the fall, the paperwork would be turned in to Capt. Kidd and he would summon us to various little hearings with two or three volunteer dads to be quizzed on what we had done, in order to limit any attempted shortcuts. It always seemed a huge triumph when the dads’ committee declared that Mother and I had told the truth and deserved the badge I had worked for.

But I do remember the last two walks. They both ended at the same spot on the southern outskirts of the city, close to a rather new elementary school and a little strip mall.

Both days it was hot as Hades, and I had more or less emptied my canteen by the time Mother came for me. I was proud of the fact that I had arrived early, showing I had gotten stronger as the earlier hikes were completed.

What did I think about, I wonder, as I plodded (or rather, strode) along? All I remember is that on the longest trek, when Mother had taken me ten miles from the finish line, I had passed a little high school whose name I had heard but I was surprised to see it was in the middle of nowhere. What a bummer it would be to have to go there!

When Mother and I got home that day, I bathed right away both because of the accumulated sweat and in order to cool down. Mother was a little concerned about me and had finished filling out the form already when I came down. I signed it.

And that was the last thing I did.

When the fall started and I began attending classes at the neighborhood junior high, the first Monday night came when our troop met in a Methodist church near the university, but I had no interest whatsoever in going. And I never did go back, never turned in the forms, or sat for the final hearing.

There was even one man in our church from another troop who used to badger me about taking care of that last merit badge. He could not understand why I didn’t want to finish up, and he didn’t even know that all I had to do was turn in the paperwork and demonstrate that I had indeed completed all the requirements for the hiking badge.

I didn’t and don’t understand either why I didn't finish up, but I never did.

2

In high school I was a conscientious student, but not an obsessive one. I enjoyed learning new things even when I did not so much enjoy particular classes. I willingly did my homework on time, even some assignments that I knew some, or many, of my classmates considered tedious (like our nightly Latin translation work). I can remember one time when my mother and father had to go to a meeting at the school, at the time when I was just finishing up something extra-curricular, and I sat in one of the bathrooms on the floor while trying to figure out what the heck one of Vergil’s figures of speech could possibly mean (or something like that).

But I didn’t go above and beyond what seemed the minimum assignments, didn’t seek out the teachers outside of class or do any extra-credit work. My grades seemed okay but not spectacular. My older sister had done better.

As the junior and senior years zipped along, we had quite a few opportunities to take big national exams. Among them were the Merit Scholarship Exams, a kind of practice run at the College Boards (later formalized as the PSAT, which didn’t exist in my day), and then in the fall of my senior year the SATs for real. Finally, it turned out that the second stage of the Merit Scholarship Exams was… another occasion to take the SATs. As usual my results seemed pretty good (and secretly I liked taking this type of exam), but not spectacular.

So it was a little perturbing to discover that the state university in the Midwest that I had decided to attend, after they offered me a $50 scholarship for the first year, did not accept the SATs, requiring for everyone the ACTs which were not offered in my whole state. “Not to worry,” the university said, “we accept you on the basis of your high school record, and you can take the required exams the day before Registration.”

Yes, I went away to college not having actually passed the entrance exam. No one seemed worried.

I arrived on a Friday afternoon, on Saturday took the exams – along with quite a few others – and was given an appointment with an academic advisor the next afternoon, and then on Sunday morning a line had formed in the parking lot outside the designated building to wait for our results. Again, no one seemed worried or anxious.

When it was my turn in line, someone handed me my letter and said, “Congratulations” just as she had to everyone I had observed ahead of me. Yes, I was officially in. Not only that, a stamp at the top said “Honor Student” whatever that meant and my advisor appointment had been changed to late that afternoon with an Honors Advisor.

My percentile ranks were indeed higher than they had been on the SATs or the Merit Exams, and – here was the shocker – although my university did not give advanced credit, I had been exempted from the usual requirement to take a year of college math!

This seemed at the time particularly good news because in junior high and high school I had convinced myself that I was a verbal guy; I just did not like math. One way I was distinguished from the other good or pretty good students in my class was that I had opted to take the minimum requirement, through second-year algebra, rather than taking on Algebra and Trig that “everyone else” had chosen for the senior year.

So I didn’t have to take any math in college. I don’t recall my advisor pressing me to do so either, asking basically, “Well, what do you want to take?”

As it turned out, I struggled a little with the math challenges in the Physics course I chose to take in my freshman year. Maybe that only ratified my opting for the minimum...

But I regret that now. The fact is, I always did well in my math classes and scored higher on the mathematical parts of exams than on the verbal. The reason I struggled in Physics was that I had not taken A & T. And all through my professional career on the rather frequent occasions when some level of mathematical thinking was required, I prided myself on still remembering and being able to apply what I had learned, minimal or not.

And dozens and dozens of times, I have regretted not having taken Statistics in college.

3

The last act of omission I will mention was amusing as it happened, but I do regret not taking a different route.

It was in my freshman year at college. My father had told me to expect that work that had received an A in high school usually received a B in College, B work got a C, and so on. So I was expecting a B or B- average. I actually did better than that in my first semester, but averaged between an A and a B.

But it was still enough that some people noticed. It led, for instance, to a couple of fraternities – who had to raise their corporate average – to ask me to be a pledge. Not my thing. But, surprise, it also led to my being invited to join a national freshman honor society. That was exciting. I may even have mentioned it to my folks.

But the thing was, in order to join you had to pay what seemed a large sum to me (maybe $5.00) for the initiation luncheon and a membership fee too. I wrote back a nice note but saying I wouldn’t be at the luncheon and would not become a member.

I didn’t think about it again.

The university I attended published a daily newspaper. On the morning when I was excitedly up early to polish my shoes and brass and to brush off and iron my ROTC uniform (my freshman year ROTC was required of all men) because that was Governor’s Day, when the governor of the state was coming out to REVIEW THE TROOPS at noon.

We had been practicing all year lining up, standing straight, and marching in proper formation. I probably arrived at the parade grounds early, all polished up. Most of the guys I knew complained about all this stuff, but I actually liked at least the marching part. So this was going to be an interesting day.

Also on the front page was a story about the freshman honor society luncheon, which turned out to be that very day. Unfortunately, listed along with quite a few others in the small print was my name. I may have been surprised at the mistake but thought nothing of it really.

And sure enough, it was an impressive military occasion: a big field with a pavilion set up in the center. All the platoons, etc., lined up at their assigned stations. After we had “fallen in,” the senior student leading our platoon called us to attention and called the role. Incredibly, all were present. Then we waited there, at ease, as vehicles began to drive up to the pavilion.

I couldn’t pay much attention to the big-wigs, though, because the Sergeant – a professional serviceman – strode officiously up to our little group and bellowed, “Cadet Derrick, front and center!”

This was disturbing, but I marched up to the Sergeant. He said still loudly, “Derrick!”

I said, “Yes sir!” perhaps squeaking a little. But it began to dawn on me that he was actually looking me over admiringly.

“Derrick,” he resumed. “Get your sweet tail over to that honors luncheon!” (He was evidently amused I hadn’t realized that the academic honor was considered more important than Governor’s Day and admired my loyalty to the corps.)

“Sir!” I was so bold to say. “I refused to join that society!” A brief pause followed.

“Derrick?”

“Yes?”

“Fall in!”

I marched back to my place, noticing some smiles among my comrades.

That’s all I remember about Governor’s Day. We did march, to the same Sousa music we had practiced to all year. But that was more or less it.

And I have nothing to show for it. It wasn’t right to charge me to get an honor I had earned, especially a relatively large amount. But I should have asked my parents for the money. Though financially stretched with both their children now in college, they would have been happy to oblige.

NOTE: I reserve the right to add to this list of regrettable acts of omission on a later occasion.

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