After almost 36 years, I finally completed my Eagle Scout project on Saturday.
Almost certainly a world record in terms of how long it took someone to complete an Eagle service project, especially given you can’t become an Eagle Scout after the age of 18.
After a near-fatal car accident and my parents’ failure to request an extension to allow me to complete my project as a boy and earn my Eagle Scout badge — my literal boyhood dream — I decided to finally complete the service project that prevented me from becoming an Eagle Scout.
Happily, it was a glorious October day—perfect weather and the kind of foliage that attracts people from all over the world to New England.
My morning began with a lesson from a gravestone expert on properly cleaning a marker. She demonstrated the tricks of the trade and told me some great stories about the history of Center Cemetery, including recently finding lost markers inside overgrown bushes and hedges.
It breaks my heart how people die and are forgotten, which was the impetus behind this service project so many years ago.
After she left, I began working on a marker that needed a great deal of work—so covered in lichen that the name on the stone was barely legible—and quickly understood how physically taxing a job like this can be. I worked alone for about an hour before the first person arrived—a man named Eric — a Scout leader from Charlie and Clara’s troop.
A few minutes later, a second Eric arrived. I didn’t know this Eric, but he knew me. He had recently heard me interviewed on a podcast, began following me online, and learned of my project. Being an Eagle Scout himself, he decided to stop by and lend a hand.
I was thrilled. Overwhelmed, really.
Soon after the second Eric arrived, lots of other people followed:
Scouts from Clara and Charlie’s troop alongside their parents. More Scout leaders. A handful of my current students. Many friends. Neighbors. Strangers who wanted to help.
Also a boy who broke his collarbone riding his bike to the cemetery to volunteer. After having his arm set in a sling at an urgent care facility, he came to the cemetery to see if he could still help.
A total of 42 volunteers — plus Elysha, Clara, and Charlie — joined me on Saturday to clean markers.
So many volunteers that I was forced to run across the street to purchase additional supplies.
Clara served as our receptionist, welcoming volunteers, taking names and addresses for future thank you notes, and offering snacks and drinks. Charlie and Elysha worked hard cleaning markers, and an especially generous friend even dropped off a donation of donuts for the crew.
It was a great day of service, and I was overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of so many people who joined me to make this small dream of mine come true. By the end of the day, we had cleaned more than 50 markers of lichen and debris.
At one point, I heard a boy say, “This is so satisfying. I started with a mess, and now it looks new again. I hope the dead people buried here are happy because I am.”
Many asked if completing the project might help me feel better about this lifelong, painful regret of mine.
My answer — less than satisfying — is “I don’t know.”
On Saturday, as the project was wrapping up, I was struck by how easy it would’ve been to complete this project when I was a boy had I not gone headfirst through a windshield or simply been gifted with a little more time.
It hurt a little, recognizing how close I had truly come to earning the rank of Eagle.
It still hurts today.
But I suspect that the passage of time might help me to feel better. Getting a little distance might help me put things into clearer focus.
I suspect that completing my service project will allow me to finally close the book on this part of my life, but I also suspect that the book will remain on my desk, staring back at me for the rest of my life.
My therapist has always admired the way I’m able to address the difficult moments of my life, then pack them away into boxes and place them on shelves, out of view, in what he describes as a very healthy means of moving forward.
I’d love to add this chapter of my life to the shelf, but I’m not sure if that will ever happen —at least for now.
Regardless, the kindness offered to me on Saturday will never be forgotten, and I couldn’t be happier to have completed something I’ve been thinking about for over three decades. Thanks to some good folks in the Newington Parks and Grounds Department, a lovely woman who knows a lot about cemeteries, and a remarkable crew of friends, family, students, Scouts, and even strangers, my little dream finally came true.
For that, I am still smiling today.
