The Lone Scout

When we moved into Sophie's house, we moved into the 17th ward. I was called to provide a weekly activity for the 11-year-old scouts--or scout, I should say. There was only one. For the rest of the summer, only one.

It was pathetic, this poor kid, having to hang out with a twenty-year-old woman whose stomach got bigger every week. I don't know what I did with him, except one time when my dad helped me put together a shop project for him--a knick-knack shelf with a flame-shaped back, or so I remember it. The sanding, finishing, etc. must have taken a few weeks.

One time we had a visitor. He was the son of Gene R. Cook, a general authority even then, and they were visiting relatives in the ward, I think his wife's sister, or something like that. Anyway, the son had dark hair and very dark lashes--why that sticks in my mind I don't know--while my own boy had a rounder face, medium brown hair and freckles.

Fortunately, my one scout turned 12 at the end of the summer, and moved on to a real scouting experience.