Kathy Zonana has a beautiful piece in The Atlantic today, about why her son doesn’t want to be a Cub Scout. He would enjoy scouting — indeed, he’s disabled and, as his mom points out, scouting is a great social outlet for kids in his circumstances — but a year ago, he asked about it because his friend Warren is a Cub Scout. She explained that it would be great for him, but also told him that, at that point, neither gay kids nor adults were welcome. His response:
My son’s lower lip is in full pout. He takes a breath.
“I have gay aunts,” he says.
“Yes, you do,” I say.
“Why would anyone be afraid of my aunts? They don’t have a gun.”
He’s not climbing up on a gun-control soapbox. He’s just a 7-year-old explaining that his aunts are not scary. They aren’t trying to give him a flu shot; Voldemort isn’t hiding in their hallway; and they don’t have a gun. They have two jobs, a mortgage and a beautiful baby girl.
But Warren is a Cub Scout.
A year ago, Kathy decided to leave it up to her son, and he decided against it. This year, it’s her son who is saying that yesterday’s changes aren’t enough. I’ll let you click over for the magical last line of the piece, the one that really drives home the true meaning of being a Boy Scout.