STRANGER THAN FICTION: A LETTER FROM GIRL SCOUT DAY CAMP

The following is a shameless rip-off of columnist Sam Blackwell's "Letters from Home."

Dear Mom and Dad:

It's a sunny day here at Camp Sacajawea, so sunny that we're making s'mores without a fire. You think I'm kidding? The counselors spent 15 minutes trying to get melted marshmallows out of Zelda Weidenburger's hair. Nothing worked, so another girl found a pair of scissors and cut the marshmallows out.

Zelda looks a little funny now.

Today they had a Girl Scout Outdoor Skills Rodeo. The events were flag folding, bedroll rolling, animal track identification and knot tying. The counselors asked me to be a judge.

Since I've never done any of those things, I'm not sure how I qualified to judge them. Okay, I did identify the tire tracks of my ex-fiance's car at my ex-friend's house, but that doesn't really count. I've also accidentally tied knots in my shoelaces, but that probably doesn't count, either.

Those rodeo contestants were incredible! Most of them neatly and respectfully folded flags, tied unbreakable knots and identified deer tracks better than most mountain lions could.

But some of the girls forgot their training and didn't do very well. That's fine -- I personally throw bedrolls into the spare room and shut the door. Losing the rodeo isn't bad, making a face and being a bad sport is.

So I told the scouts a story that you taught me, Mom and Dad. Here goes:

There once was a little Native American girl named Stands-With-An-Attitude. She and all the other little girls were invited to the Native American Olympics, conducted every four years in Tulsa.

Stands-With-An-Attitude practiced her berry gathering, necklace beading and buffalo boiling with great passion. She was convinced she was as good or better than any other girl in all of North America, which was fine, because we all need self-esteem.

However, when Stands-With-An-Attitude got to the Olympics, she came in dead last in every event. She would have finished better, but when she saw she was losing, she walked away from the other participants and pouted.

By the end of the Native American Olympics, the Great Tribal Council was sick of Stands-With-An-Attitude's antics. They tied her to an anthill, and she was never heard from again.

The end.

I think the girls learned something from this. They started screaming wildly every time they saw ants.

I learned something too -- life would be a whole lot better if it were operated like a Girl Scout day camp.

For example, when the counselors want silence, they make the Native American sign for it. They touch their thumbs and pinky fingers together, leaving their three middle fingers straight in the air.

Wouldn't it be great if the same sign worked in the office? I can see it now.

BOSS: Heidi, could I see you for a minute? Your article about solid waste removal in Gipsy was completely wrong. For one thing . . .

HEIDI: Wait. (Makes the Native American sign for silence.)

BOSS: Sorry! I'll come back later.

Also, the girls mark out their camps with rocks from a creek bed. To get into a camp, you have to shake a bottle full of pebbles and say the secret password. It's "Mississippi" in our camp, so stop by anytime.

When I go back to the newspaper, I'm going to bring a bunch of rocks and put them around my cubicle. My password will be "Joel West." You probably don't know who that is, Mom and Dad, but it has to do with a name-brand underwear campaign that had quite an effect on me.

Love,

Heidi

~Heidi Nieland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.