Surviving the Brownie Apocalypse

Back in 2017, Ericka declared that I was next in line to take charge of Josephine's Brownie Scout troop. As someone who had never been a Girl Scout herself, I approached the task with the same reluctance one might feel before a root canal. Being a high school English teacher, the idea of organizing activities for a group of noisy little girls felt somewhat beyond my expertise. Nevertheless, I put on my big girl panties and immersed myself in learning about campfire songs, badge ceremonies, and outdoor experiences, aiming to ignite the girls’ creativity.

As the parents of Girl Scouts, we were encouraged to join the meetings alongside our daughters to support with behavior management and help with activities. Yet, one mother saw these monthly gatherings simply as free babysitting for her unruly minion. This child, whom I'll refer to as Buffy, ignored all instructions and ran wild during the meetings. Ericka, who had previously led the group, had a hard time disciplining Buffy and cautioned me about her before my very first meeting. On the evening of my debut as leader, I smirked in the face of danger and stepped boldly into Northwest Hills Church.

Buffy arrived in full mettle! At the start of the ceremony, she declined to enter the circle of girls and instead chose to skip along the edge, singing as she went. Quietly, I watched the brat while scheming my initial strategy. Once the main group activities concluded, I assembled the Brownies and led them to our designated workspace in the corridor outside the sanctuary. Unaware of the bleak prospects awaiting her, Buffy dashed down the hallway with the zealousness of a turkey vulture eyeing a buffalo carcass. Buffy was on the verge of meeting her match!

Our first meeting focused on exploring the concept of citizenship and understanding what it genuinely means to be a Girl Scout. Five of the girls engaged in a thoughtful conversation about how being a Girl Scout goes beyond simply earning badges or showing up; it encompasses kindness, responsibility, and serving the community. However, Buffy disagreed, loudly exclaiming, "This is boring! Let’s race down the hallway!" I calmly stood and invited Buffy to come with me to the far end of the hallway. Though puzzled, she followed me to a bench along the eastern side.

“Please have a seat, Buffy,” I said. “If you want to be part of our discussion, you’ll need to sit quietly and wait your turn to speak.”

Buffy looked straight at me and chuckled. “I have ADHD, and I’m not on my medication right now. I just can’t sit still!”

I had to admire her spunk, although I firmly disagreed with her philosophy. “That’s understandable,” I answered, “but if you can’t manage it, you’ll need to stay here at this end of the hallway while we continue our meeting.”

“I don’t want to, and I don’t have to,” she protested.

“You do, and you will,” I responded firmly.

Each time I allowed Buffy to re-join our circle, she behaved deplorably. She babbled, hit other girls, rolled on the carpet, kicked her legs in the air, and generally demanded all the attention. After each disruption, I led Buffy back to the "time-out" bench and asked her to reflect on the importance of respectful communication and allowing others to speak. Unfortunately, this intervention did not sit well with her; by the end of the thirty-minute meeting, Buffy was visibly furious.

At the conclusion of every monthly Girl Scout meeting, all the groups reunited in the spacious assembly hall for the final circle. During this ritual, Buffy sulked and cast sharp glances at me. As she glared, I warmly smiled while plotting my next move.

Once the circle ended, the girls formed a line for snacks. Buffy shoved her way to the front, attempting to grab a handful of fruit snacks, but I blocked her effort. Frustrated by my firmness, she swung her size one sneaker and kicked my shin. Instead of reprimanding her, I softly took her hand and guided her to a seat by the door. It was time to wait for her mother so that we could have a talk.

Typically, Buffy's mother waited in the parking lot for her. This time, I asked another mother to bring her inside for a chat. This request clearly upset "Linda"; she stormed into the building and approached me, her face marked by fury.

"Who do you think you are, making me come in here?!" she shouted. "I don't have time for this!"

Holding my ground, I replied, "I am the volunteer leader of my daughter's Brownie troop. If you want Buffy to remain part of this group, you will need to accompany her next time. Neither the girls nor I will put up with her disruptive behavior."

I wish I had captured the expression on Linda's face once my words registered. Without responding further, she took Buffy's hand and left the building, never to return.

In the following weeks, the troop meetings became calm and purposeful. Without Buffy's interruptions, the other Brownies thrived; our gatherings were filled with laughter and lively conversations. I began to look forward to each meeting, eager to see the girls' new creativity and kindness.

Despite my initial dread, leading the Brownies helped me grow closer to Josephine while ensuring the welfare of the entire group. Furthermore, my willingness to advocate for myself and fellow volunteer Girl Scout leaders inspired other mothers to take on leadership roles the following year.

Years later, as I look back on that first tumultuous meeting, I smile—not at the disorder that once existed, but at the resilience required to shape a troop that truly reflected the essence of Girl Scouts.  And in that glow of accomplishment, I realize I was never just filling a role; rather, I was nurturing future leaders, one meeting at a time.

My friend Carol teaching the Brownie Scouts how to make rain sticks.