The Cubmaster walked up to the front of the cafeteria which was packed with over a hundred kids and their parents. He asked one of the Tiger Cubs, a kid no older than my six-year-old son Kyle, to come up with him. That’s when I noticed a roll of paper leaning up against one of the walls.
The kid was decked out in full uniform from an overly enthusiastic parent, I assumed. He asked the kid to hold onto the paper and the Cubmaster walked away from the kid, unrolling it as he walked.
As he did, I could see that the paper had markings all over it, tick marks from zero to 100.
The two held up their ends of the paper which was about three feet high and over twenty feet long. With his right hand, the Cubmaster held up two fingers, the scout sign for shut your pie holes, kids.
After a few seconds, they did, and the Cubmaster started to speak. “With current advancements in technology, it’s very likely that your son will live about 100 years. This large piece of paper that we’re holding represents the timeline of a boy’s life.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in.
“As a parent, you will not be around for the last 40 to 50 years of their lives,” he said as he ripped off the part the kid was holding at the 50 year mark. Half of the paper, a huge piece, dropped to the floor. I’m convinced that every single person in that cafeteria heard the sound that it made as it fell.
We were at the edge of our seats.
“Who here is six or seven years old?” he asked and the group of new Tiger Cubs sitting at the table I was at raised their hands and giggled. “The youngest scouts here tonight are six years old, turning seven soon, so we’re going to tear my side of the paper off at the seven year mark.”
He ripped off a section from where he was holding the paper and dropped it to the floor, leaving years seven through 50 intact. I thought about the last six, almost seven years of Kyle’s life and how quickly it had gone by already. Kyle, who was sitting in front of me, turned around and smiled.
The two held their sides of the paper out again which had ages seven to 50 left. “This represents the remaining amount of time that you and your son have left to spend together here on Earth.”
I felt my heart drop as he said those words and then a lump formed in my throat. Is that really true? I thought to myself. He was right, that’s really all the time I have left with him… I couldn’t believe it.
“Your kids will hopefully leave the house at age 18,” the Cubmaster said as the adults laughed and then he ripped the sheet again at the 18 year mark. The long section from 18 to 50 fell to the floor.
The little kid, proudly wearing his brand new uniform with a neckerchief and little cap walked closer to the Cubmaster and they held the tiny piece remaining, representing years seven through 18.
“This is the amount of time that your son will be home with you. Just over 10 years before they’ll be out on their own. You have 10 more years where they will listen to you and what you have to say.” As the Cubmaster said those words, I told my son Kyle to stop talking to his friends and he would not listen to me, which I found to be funny but still, I knew what the Master of Cubs was getting at.
“Sometime after he starts going to middle school, at around age 13, his friends will start to become a bigger and maybe even the major influence in his life, more than you think you’re going to be.”
He ripped the paper at the mark representing age 13 and it fell to the floor. He thanked his little helper for doing such a good job and sent him back to his dad who I noticed was a bit choked up.
Just like the rest of us.
The Cubmaster held up the tiny sliver of paper remaining that represented ages seven through 13 as he stood around all of the ripped paper surrounding him on the floor. “This is the amount of time you have – right now – to be the major force in shaping the trajectory of your son’s life,” he said.
The room was silent. We all knew he was right. And this was our chance to do something about it.
Although I had driven to his elementary school to sign up my son so he could be a scout like I had been, I drove home that night with a different perspective on why I wanted Kyle to be in scouting.
It wasn’t just another activity to get him involved in. It was an opportunity, maybe the best one, to connect with my son to create a bond during that tiny sliver of time the Cubmaster held up in the air that Kyle will remember for the many years I won’t be a part of, scattered on the cafeteria floor.