Monday, February 25, 2013

March. March. Jazz Hands.

Day 353
Thin Mints.  Samoas.  Trefoils.  Do-si-dos.

Oh, let me count the ways.  Or to be more accurate, let me count the boxes.

In total, 28 boxes of Girl Scout cookies have lined our shelves over the last two weeks.  Not all at the same time.  They don’t last long to get to know each other. 

“Why so many?” people often ask.  Or, “Were you a Girl Scout?” 

My elementary school didn’t have a Girl Scout troop.  We had Campfire Girls.  And I joined.

At least once a month, or more frequently if requested, I entertain the boys with a song and dance routine I do to When Every Campfire Girl Walks Down the Street.  It goes something like this:  

When every Campfire girl walks down the street (march, march)
She’s just one-hundred per from head-to-feet. (okay sign with my hand, touch head, point to feet)

She’s got that style, that smile, that winning way. (beauty queen pose, cheesy grin, clasped hands shake over one shoulder then the other)

Just one look at her,
You’ll recognize her and you’ll say, (shake finger in a knowing, authoritative way)

“Now there’s a girl I’d like to know.  (more finger-shaking)
She’s got that good old Campfire pep and go. (turn to the side, locomotion dance move)

Just to look at her is quite a treat! (jazz hands)
Oh to be a Campfire girl!” (pull out all the stops and throw in old cheerleading jump)

While different in many ways, I believe these two groups are alike in the ways that matter most.  They create community. They introduce girls to new challenges and adventures. They build girls’ self-esteem and self-confidence. 

These lessons last a lifetime.  Deep down that Campfire Girl still exists in me: a young girl willing to try new things and brave enough to fail.  Is there any better lesson we can teach our girls?  Or a better reason to buy Girl Scout cookies?     

For the record, I also do a mean Camp Tialaka chant.  

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