Presented by: Sir John Mason MP, in the late 1990s, at an awards evening.
For those who don’t know, the Chief Scout’s Award was the highest achievement in Scouting at the time. Oh and I should introduce myself – I’m Barry and I’m living with Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease (Type II). The special painkillers I take have a couple of side effects, tiredness & memory loss. Sadly, this has left gaps in my recollections. So any story I tell should be taken with a pinch of salt.
Despite being in Scouting for over a decade and going on countless camps, I never felt that I truly earnt that award. In order to get it, you had to fill in the various pages of the Scout Book, an A6 sized pocket book with a green & gold cover. It was simple and elegant, when a task had been completed it was recorded in the book. Complete enough tasks and the badge was awarded. Each badge had its unique design & place on the uniform. In the end, get enough badges, and your uniform resembles a patchwork quilt.
When it came to the Chief Scout’s Award I was already nearing the end of my tenure in Scouting. I had become the Senior Patrol Leader for the Troop, whose numbers had dwindled to just three. It felt like the award was almost given to me because of my years of service, rather than something I actively earnt. Half of the activities were ticked off retrospectively. It left very few tasks to be completed for the badge and none of them were very taxing.
By the time the paperwork had been completed, I already had one foot out of the door. It was decided that I wouldn’t continue into Venture Scouts, they met too far away and were significantly older than me. They did more adult activities. This award ceremony was to be my swan song. Scouting had been my life for most of my life at this point and now it was over.
This was a bittersweet moment, a recognition of the pinnacle of my achievement. There was continuity too, because I had already achieved the highest awards in Beavers & Cubs. Yet there was to be no more, and I was bitter about that. The highest achievement, had just been handed to me – both physically and metaphorically. I still remember the underwhelming feeling of Sir John putting that badge in my hand. Someone I had no knowledge of at the time. I was just one of many getting an award that night, it didn’t feel special enough.
Then when it did come to my final day Scouting, there was no pomp or ceremony. It was the lesson that I needed to learn. I always felt that I was “special”, deserving of the adoration of others. I based my self worth on the opinions of others, and measured it in achievements. Retrospectively I understand why and don’t think badly of myself but it’s not me anymore.
Being Autistic I have had to learn things about myself and the world that perhaps others take for granted. The only meaning that awards have are the ones that we ourselves ascribe to them. Awards are not qualifications. I’m still learning, still yearning for a sense of achievement; but occasionally I have a moment of clarity that it is better to live the moment than treat it as a task which might lead to a future reward.