Ah, the ironies of life.  As I read about the Boy Scots’ secret panel decision this week to continue its ban on gays, I thought back to my own time in the Cub Scouts and one event in particular.

I’d arrived at my weekly den meeting, where my fellow Cubs and I usually did some sort of craft – often winding up with yet another neckerchief ring.  This week, however, was different.  Our Den Mother, Mrs. G., told us we would be participating in the annual Pack talent show and that our den was always a 1960s rock and roll band – lip synched.  (This was way before Milli Vanilli, so it was kind of cool.)  We were all excited and immediately began talking about who would be the guitarist and the bass player and the drummer and what kind of cool 60s gear we’d wear.  I don’t think any of us realized there were more of us than there were instruments.

While we were buzzing, Mrs. G. put a record on (yes, an actual record) and encouraged us to dance.  I remember thinking it was a little odd, but I liked the song and I didn’t need another neckerchief ring, so I danced.  Then she dropped the bomb:  Our rock band was more of a pop group and it was not only going to include musicians, it would feature dancers, too.  Go-go dancers.  Girl go-go dancers.  And those would be the two best dancers in the den.

Surprise!  I was one of those dancers.  (Some stereotypes are based in truth.)

I remember looking on in horror as she pulled the go-go costume out of the box.  It’s actually burned into my retinas.  It was a mini-dress, like something an ice skater would wear.  The bodice was light blue with a diagonal pink stripe and was covered in sequins.  The long sleeves and the skirt were bright yellow chiffon.  (I know.  Hideous.  But that’s not the point.)

Before I go on I should explain something about Boyworld at that time.  In Boyworld, there were four basic types of boys:  1) straight boys who acted straight, 2) gay boys who acted straight, 3) straight boys who acted a little femmy but would grow out of it, and 4) gay boys who everyone knew were gay.  If you were part of group one or group two you could put on a go-go dress, get up on stage and dance in front of 300 other boys and everyone would think it was hilarious.  If you were part of groups three or four,  putting that dress on and dancing was something very different and, for an eight-year-old, very frightening.  I was a boy from group four and I knew there was no way I was going to do it.

I immediately went into deflection mode.  I tried everything to persuade Mrs. G. to pick someone else.  I would be a great guitar player, I told her.  I could mime the drums like crazy.  I even tried to convince her that I was not the best dancer in the group.  (Not easy because I was really, really good.)  Nothing worked.  I was trapped.  Or was I?

Luckily one element in the pre-teen arsenal of self-protection is the spontaneous phantom illness.  They never came up with a name for what I got, but Ferris Bueller would have been proud.  The hacking and moaning started at about 5:30 when my parents came home from work, followed quickly by a headache, pains all over my body and an upset stomach.  By 7:00 I was ready to cough up a lung rather than go to the Pack meeting.  To be honest, I don’t think Mom and Dad bought it, but they let me off the hook.  We all stayed home.  Later on I found out that some other poor kid had been drafted to fill my tutu – and everyone thought it was hilarious.

I don’t know if the Scouts still think cross-dressing is a riot, but they don’t like the gays and whenever the subject comes up, I can’t help thinking how the same organization that refuses to allow us to participate once tried to turn me into a cross-dresser for an evening.  Mixed message?  A little bit.