The Scout Who Saved Christmas

December 24, 1992, Southern California. Early evening. My 12-year-old Scout son and I are hunting for a tree. It’s been a difficult year. I’ve done my best to keep a bright face. Fact is, I’m pretty much in survival mode.

I’d become a single parent this year. My business had imploded, the result of a string of legal sessions and court hearings. A painful divorce has already taken a huge emotional and financial toll—and it’s not over yet.

I’ve moved to a new part of town so my son can get to school on his own. But my sole credit card is in awful shape and cash is very tight. I’m not sure I’ll be able to make this Christmas anywhere close to merry. Then, last week, my son’s bike—this is how he now gets back and forth to school—gets stolen. I found a decent replacement for him, but bikes aren’t bargains this time of year. I have a few small gifts for him, but know in my heart “Santa” is going to fall short this year.

If I can just get through the next couple of days, then maybe things will turn out okay, I’m hoping. But sitting next to me is a bright-eyed boy who still believes in the spirit of Christmas. I don’t want to disappoint him. This past year has been pretty awful for him, too—in many ways worse than his parents’. I’m hoping that the few wrinkled bills in my pocket are enough for a tree.

Most tree lots are already sold out and closed. The ones still with a few trees haven’t cut their prices—they know parents like me can’t go home without a tree!

We make the rounds in this new part of town. Look at some trees and check their prices. Then drive and look some more. I try to pretend the trees we’re finding are not quite right, but the truth is I don’t have enough money to buy them. It’s now getting dark, and still no tree.

Then my son asks, “Hey, Dad, remember that Scout tree lot…the one that troop on the other side of town has? We’ve bought lots of trees there, before. Maybe they have one for us!”

I’d forgotten. “Yes, great idea,” I said. “So let’s go check it out!” he says, grinning. Turning the car around, we drive several miles to that troop’s tree lot…in time to watch them shutting down.

A few Scouts are policing the area—picking up stray twine and trimmed-off branches. Several parents are putting hammers, saws, bolts of twine, and unused tree stand wood into a pickup. Feeling grim, I park and we walk to the lot.

Right there, lying amid the remaining debris, one lone tree. Unsold. Looks to be not too tall, not too short, with full, bunchy branches still visible in the fading light.

Tucking a hand in my pocket, I try to re-count the few bills left, when one of the older Scouts walks toward us. “Hi! Can I help you?” he asks.

“We’re looking for a tree!” my son blurts, while I foolishly try to look as if we’re there for some other reason.

One of the fathers comes over. Asks the same question. I sort of shuffle my feet, feeling the thinness of the folded paper in my pocket.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” the Scout asks. “Yeah, I know you two,” he adds. “You’ve bought trees from us before—almost every year I guess, ever since I became a Scout six years ago.”

“I’m a Scout now, too,” my son said, “Just like you!”

Turning to his father, the Scout says, “Dad, you’ve been complaining about what we’re gonna do with that one last tree. How about we give it to these guys. They’ve been good customers ever since I joined the troop!”

His dad smiles. “I know you two, as well,” and he gives us both a Scout handshake. “Sounds like a good idea to me,” he adds. “Want us to tie it to the top of your car?”

“Okay, and I’ll help,” my son says. Then he and the older Scout tie up the branches and secure the tree on top of the car.

I’m really embarrassed now. “But I have to pay you something.”

“Naah…Don’t give it a second thought,” the Scout’s dad says. “That tree’s been looking for the right home all day, and it’s found it!”

“Have a Merry Christmas!” both the Scout and his dad wave, as we’re driving away.

Do they any idea how merry you’ve made this particular Christmas? I’m thinking as we head home.

That was 28 years ago. My son earned Eagle a few years later. He went on to complete his doctoral degree, teach, marry, and five months ago have a son of his own. We’ve shared many Christmases, and Scouting adventures since that particular Christmas Eve. But this one is stuck fast among my memories, as if it had happened a moment ago.

I don’t know that Scout’s name, but I know his friendly smile and the cheerful sound of his voice. I hope he may read this and recognize himself and the wonderful thing he did that night. I’m sure he didn’t know the impact of his “Good Turn” that night. On that night, he did what he did because… because that’s what Scouts do.

Stay safe, stay healthy, and stay positive!
Happy Scouting!
Andy

Although these columns are copyrighted, you have my okay to quote or reproduce any column or part, so long as it’s attributed: “Ask Andy” by Andy McCommish.

[12/22/2020 – No. 661 – Copyright © 2020 Andy McCommish]