Tag: Life’s lessons

A Lifebuoy Lesson

On By scottpetersenIn Camp Napowan, Eagle Scout, Life's Lessons1 Comment

When I was 12 years old (1959), I spent part of the summer at Camp Napowan — a great Boy Scout camp in Wild Rose, Wisconsin.  One hot sunny afternoon, I was loping back to my campsite when I saw a fellow camper named “Wiley.”  I looked at him and called him a “______.”   It was a highly offensive and nasty slur.  What prompted my outburst, I don’t recall but from the moment the words left my lips, things began moving verrrry quickly.  And with great and lasting impression. 

The Senior Patrol Leader, Bill B. – age 14, heard my comment and yelled an order to other Scouts.  They grabbed me and dragged me shouting and struggling to the wash stand.  Bill took a well-used cake of Lifebuoy’s finest and pushed it into my mouth.   Then – with a word from Bill – I was released.  I ran back to my tent on the verge of tears – spitting soap shards.   When I emerged, the matter was forgotten.

But you know what?  From that time on, I never used an epithet like that.   I learned.  Some might say “the hard way.”   But I disagree.    I wish other young people could learn like this — from their peers.  I look at this lesson (and others I’ve had) as being key to my development (see posts of 8/16/11 and 11/23/11).  I’m glad I learned.           

Oh and Bill B.?  He and I went on to become Eagle Scouts.  We worked together on staff at Camp Napowan for the next 3 years.   He became one of my two closest friends (along with my great pal Col. “Ox” – another Eagle Scout).   Bill was best man at my wedding.  And we talk frequently.  Today, he’s the finest veterinarian in the State of Kentucky.   And to this day, I’ve rarely heard Bill utter anything stronger than a (usually appropriate) “doggonit.”  

A 6th Grade Lesson

On By scottpetersenIn 6th Grade LessonLeave a comment

On April 2, 2007, I presented a paper to the Chicago Literary Club on 5 lessons that I had learned in life (see post of August 16th for one).   Another occurred in 6th grade. 

One day between classes, I saw Tim H.  In a show of 6th grade bravado, I grabbed him and pushed him bodily into the girls’ bathroom.  And I held the door – chortling – while screams of girls and cries from Tim resounded down the hall.  What happened next occurred in a kind of slow motion though I’m sure it took place in a flash.  I felt a hand on my shoulder which spun me around.  Suddenly a bright light exploded on the side of my face.  My teacher, Mrs. S, had slapped me.  Hard.  “Don’t you ever do that again.”  Tim escaped.  I wobbled back to the classroom.   When I got home, my mother was there – arms akimbo.  She knew. . . .  Instead of hugging me and spitting about the mean teacher, my mother simply commented that she hoped I’d learned my lesson.  I had.

I learned a lesson.  It was epiphanal.  I learned that there were lines that were not to be crossed.  In today’s world, Mrs. S would’ve been summarily fired, the school system would have been sued by some money-grubbing plaintiff’s lawyer and there would’ve been nasty articles expressing outrage.   

I tend to think our educational system needs options for teaching lessons (even like this one) — without the consequence.  After all, who wins?   I sure did. . . . .

True Confessions

On By scottpetersenIn True ConfessionsLeave a comment

Shortly after passing the Illinois bar exam, my wife and I flew to Portland, Oregon, to visit my aunt and uncle and their family.  One weekend, we rented a car and drove south into the hinterlands of Oregon. 

Upon leaving a small town, I saw birds on the road ahead.  I announced to Donna in my best John Wayne voice “watch this” and I stomped on the accelerator.  The car sped up 80, 90, 100 . . . Donna is shouting at me to slow down but – hey – I’m 25 and macho.  As I approached the birds, they looked up and casually flew off.  I rocketed over the carrion they’d been chewing on (“Guess I showed them“).  About that time, I looked in the rear view mirror and was surprised to see a car behind us.  A police car.  #&X@*!   I pulled over and stopped.  And got a ticket.  108 in a 65 zone.  #&X@*! 

The bad thing was that I was to appear in court at a time I was to appear before the Character & Fitness Committee of the Illinois Bar (“sorry fellows – I have a court date“).  Donna was silent.  Stewing.  At the next town, I stopped.   The judge’s name was on the ticket.   So I . . . called the Police Station from a pay phone:

Scott:  Hello?  Officer, I’m trying to reach Judge ____ .   Can you call him and ask him to please call me?

Officer:  It’s Sunday.

Scott:  I know but it’s important. 

Officer:  I’ll see (Click).

I waited for 30 minutes.  The sun was setting.  Quiet.  Birds chirping their evening hymms.  Then the pay phone rang. 

Scott:  This is Scott Petersen (I figured that was better than “hullo“).

Judge:  This is Judge ___ .  You wanted me to call (sounds of splashing and children in the background)

Scott:  Your Honor, I’m from Chicago.  I (explained in detail how I had) just graduated from law school and passed the bar.  I was just pulled over by two officers for speeding – 108 in a 65 zone.  I am supposed to appear in court and I am also supposed to appear before the Character & Fitness Committee of the Bar at that time.  I was wondering. . . .

Judge:  Just a minute (long silence).   All right, Mister Petersen.  Raise your right hand.  Repeat after me.  “I promise that I will never speed again.”

Scott:  I will never speed again.

Judge:  I want you to promise.  I want you to swear to me. . .

Scott:  (I raised my hand in the phone booth)  I swear. . . I swear. . . I will never speed again.

Judge:   Send me your ticket.  Mark it “personal.”  Remember Mister Petersen – you promised me.  (Click)

The Judge could have said “tough kid – you show up or else.”  But he didn’t.  The lesson therefore became all the more powerful.  And since then, I have never taken a car much beyond the speed limit.  When tempted, I am always tugged back to a fall day in 1972. . . .  when I made a promise. . . .