When I was a kid, my Girl Scout troop spent Memorial Day weekend placing American flags on each grave in a military cemetery attached to an old (established in the early nineteenth century) army post. So there were a lot of graves. There we were, all of us in our uniforms with our Merit Badge sashes, wishing we were elsewhere. At least, I was. I found the whole thing creepy. I mean, sheesh, these were dead people!
Shows what a little idiot I was. I just today was discussing the history of Memorial Day with my beloved, which lead into Flanders Fields, and I realized this cache of information had bubbled up from the Girl Scout memory cells. So I can say I did learn something during my tour of Scouting duty, though not the girly things the dedicated and selfless GS leaders tried to teach us.
I did my best, during my one and only camping grip with the Scouts, to scare the tar out of my tent mates. During a roaring thunderstorm, with heavy army tents trembling in the high wind, I told ghost stories that had my imprisoned audience screaming for their mommies. Needless to say, it was suggested that I might want to go home. I never camped again with the Girl Scouts, and to this day, camping is one of my least favorite activities.
Unless it's an opportunity to scare people with creepy stories. Oh, wait, I don't have to camp to do that!
I miss the red crepe paper poppies everyone wore in their lapels on Memorial Day.