Page 4 of The Falcon and the Foe

Those who hadn’t had the displeasure of meeting Russ were lucky. Very lucky. Like, go to Vegas and put it all on red kinda lucky. Russell Ettinger was Suburban Satan. Lucifer in the PTA Flesh. A stuck-up asshole for those who weren’t into colorful metaphors.

Why couldn’t it have been anyone else up there as the scout leader?

Our boys were in the same grade, and people thought that because we were both gay single dads that we’d be BFFs.

That was a big, fat homosexual nope. I might’ve been gay, but Russ wanted nothing to do with me, wouldn’t even give me a head nod and fake smile in the drop-off line. Instead, he became friends with the snooty parents like Kimber Ashton, who bought their kids designer clothes and signed them up for French cooking classes to pad a college application that was a decade away. He became the cool gay dad, the sexy widower who always had homemade non-GMO snacks at the ready, whose son Quentin was the perfect straight-A student, who volunteered for every Parent Teacher Association event.

And I became the reject gay dad, the one people talkedaboutbut notto.

I thought this was all in my head, that maybe he was a good guy once we got to know each other. And so last year, I maneuvered my schedule as best I could to join a PTA committee for the Spring Carnival.

I might as well have thrown myself into a pit of lava and three-day-old horseshit.

Russ presided over the planning and organization like a third-world authoritarian dictator. He rejected all of my quality ideas. He never cut me any slack if I got to the meeting a tad late or gave my opinion on something—like how we were going over budget. He’d bitch me out for not treating the Spring Carnival like the most important thing going on in the world—more important than my jobs, my son, my keeping a roof over our heads.

He sent me a text one day. The school board told him he had too many PTA members working on the carnival, andmy services wouldn’t be needed anymore, but that I should sign up for future events.

Even if someone had cut off my nose, I could still smell that bullshit a mile away. Oh, I tried signing up for future events, but the volunteer lists always seemed to be full. He had turned me into persona non grata at my son’s school after I had played ultimate Tetris with my work schedule for weeks to be involved.

TL;DR—Russ Ettinger was an uptight, snobby, grade-A prick.

He droned on and on at this Falcons meeting about what a big responsibility it is and what will be required of scouts. If the man loved his rules and requirements this much, he should’ve been a dominatrix.

“I hope you’re all ready to work. You are strong, capable young men and women. The Falcons is where you will forge lifelong bonds of friendship, where you will learn exactly what you’re capable of. It was a foundational part of my life. But it won’t be easy.”

I rolled my eyes, which he totally caught.

He did his best Patton impression and marched back and forth. “You will be responsible for keeping your uniform clean at all times. Neat, freshly pressed for every meeting. Worn correctly, according to the handbook. You will be responsible for studying said handbook front to back, for being able to recite the oath of a scout verbatim at the drop of a hat.”

Good lord. The only things I could recite from memory were the Pledge of Allegiance and Meryl Streep’s monologue about cerulean inThe Devil Wears Prada.

Russ’s shined shoes clacked on the tiled floor. “Now, you might have heard of other troops that get together, do a little training on knots, camp in someone’s backyard, and roast s’mores all weekend. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ve come to the wrong place. In this troop, we take our training seriously. You will train hard in survival skills, how to persevere through any type of complication mother nature throws your way. Building lean-tos from nothing but sticks and stones in the pouring rain. Escaping from the clutches of a potential bear attack. You will know the meaning of grit and hard work.”

Parents and their kids exchanged worried looks. Even Quentin wiggled uneasily in his chair. Poor kid. One dad died, and the other had a pool cue permanently wedged up his ass.

“I mean it. If this doesn’t sound like the activity or group for you, I don’t want to keep you. You know where the door is.”

Quiet took over the room until a father and son in the back row stood up, their chairs loudly scraping on the floor. They walked out with their heads down. Another father and daughter got up from the front row. Russ barely hid a satisfied smile.

Josh gulped back a lump in his narrow throat. He tugged on my sleeve and glanced at the door.

“Anyone else not up for the Falcons?” Russ fixed his eyes on Josh and me. Josh was ridiculously excited about the Falcons. It was the only thing he’d been excited about in forever. I wasn’t going to let Captain Grumpypants scare him off.

“Where does the fun come in?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” Russ made a face like I’d said a different F-word.

“This is supposed to be a fun activity. The kids dress up, do some team bonding—”

“Dress up?”

“—and have a good time once a week.”

Russ tugged at his collar. “This isn’t dress-up. This is a uniform.”

I shrugged. “Semantics.”

Russ pinched his face even tighter. His dark blue eyes became lasers aiming to split me in half. “I run a tight troop.”

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