Once a week, after school, I wore the light brown dress, the badge-filled sash and the dark brown beanie of a Brownie.
I was in third grade.
Our troop was about to fly up and become Juniors.
And it was time to choose a leadership council.
Since I was the brainiac of any group back then, I assumed the adult leaders would choose me to be the student leader.
But they didn’t.
One of the two pulled me aside as soon as the name of the leader was announced. Bless her sensitive heart, she knew I would be bewildered.
“Leadership takes a different set of skills,” she explained. “We’ve chosen you to be our Scribe.”
I didn’t know what a Scribe was (I was 8) but it sounded like a consolation prize.
Until she told me I would be the troop’s historian. Write down everything that happened at our meetings and on our camp outs.
I liked writing things down.
And I didn’t like bossing people around.
It was the right job for me.