musings for momma
by Sharon Rosen

being and girlscoutness

“If you girls don’t quiet down, I’ll personally take the next one of you who makes a sound to stand outside in the cold for five minutes,” I shouted like a shrew. Before passing judgment, picture the scene: ten first grade Brownie girls, aged six to seven, and three moms crammed into a cabin on the outskirts of Jamul at 9:45 p.m. on a cold, rainy and muddy Saturday night.

The girls were jacked up on s’mores, hot chocolate, and the buzz of spending the day with 100 of their friends. Conversely, we moms were exhausted from driving out there and spending the day minding all these girls. I, who pride myself on my patient cool, lost it, and resorted to desperate measures. The girls knew I meant business. They quieted down and fell asleep within minutes.

My moment of Brownie leader desperation sparked an existential crisis. What was I doing with 10 young girls at a Brownie encampment? Many of the girls had never taken a trip without their parents before. What made me think I could introduce them to the joys of cabin camping, keep them in order and maintain my sanity all at once?

Deep down I knew why. The answer lies in one of my favorite quotes about death and mitzvah by the late Lubovitcher rabbi, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “When we do good deeds on behalf of the departed, we continue the work of their soul . . . Death then is a form of energy because it can be used as a tool for leading a more meaningful life.”

My own beloved Brownie leader, Mary Louise Virtue, died suddenly and inexplicably of a brain aneurysm at the age of 33, when I was 11 years old. Mrs. Virtue had been like another mom to me. She was petite, cute, vivacious, athletic and one of the most guileless, giving moms I ever met. She prepared healthy snacks for us (peanut butter and honey bananas, etc.), oozed kindness and never raised her voice. Her last name suited her perfectly, as she epitomized the virtues of motherhood. Mrs. Virtue also helped me overcome a traumatic camping experience that rendered me fearful of leaving home.

When I was seven, I’d eagerly scampered away from home to spend a week at a Girl Scout summer camp in the Sierra foothills with some Brownie friends. On day three, the weather turned bad -- the sky thundered and rained down on us. I became homesick and sobbed uncontrollably for a few hours. One of the teen-aged counselors tired of my crying and warned me to shut up before I upset the other girls. I couldn’t stop myself from crying. In her mounting exasperation, the teen-ager slapped me across the face. I think she was trying to shock me back to my senses. I quieted down for a few minutes and then resumed sobbing. She turned me over to an adult supervisor who somehow calmed me down. I begged to call home but no one would let me. I felt imprisoned in a cruel Girl Scout gulag.

I refused to go on any Girl Scout campouts after that, even with my own troop under the loving guidance of Mrs. Virtue. She patiently coaxed me over the next two years to go for just one night of a Brownie Encampment. I didn’t budge. Finally, when I became a Junior Girl Scout in 4th grade, she persuaded me. She said, “If you’re ever feeling homesick when you’re there, you just come take my hand.” This reassured me, so I went. I got a little homesick on the first night. I made sure to stand next to Mrs. Virtue at the campfire so I could grab her hand. She took my hand and squeezed it. Her touch said, “Everything will be okay.” And it was. I had a blast the rest of the campout laughing with friends, singing around the campfire and roasting marshmallows. I never again felt homesick on a Girl Scout trip.

By taking the first grade girls in my troop on an overnight, I hoped to imbue them with the same self-confidence and resilience Mrs. Virtue helped give me. I hoped that one night away would build the girls’ confidence and give them the foundation to try longer stays away from home in the future. Happily, not one of the ten girls cried out during the night or became homesick. The tried and true Girl Scout activities (making God’s eyes, singing, eating s’mores) kept them busy and happy.

Any feelings of Sartreian nausea and existential crisis this campout sparked in me, vanished as I felt Mrs. Virtue’s aura around me, helping me guide these girls to independence. I guess being and girlscoutness trump nothingness and existential despair every time.

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