Boy Scouts. I was 12. Ate too much chocolate and made an inhuman amount of dookie in my tactical scout pants. Had to be hosed off, etc. etc. etc. So now I'm the laughing stock of troop 42, right. Two nights later, in the black of night, I hear a scream form the forest surrounding camp. I run into said forest, straight for the danger zone. The commotion was all a set up.
Last day of camping Scout leaders handed out awards. I got bravest camper. In hind sight, I should have got dumbest camper who runs unarmed into a potentially threatening situation who crapped himself. Still, I am quite proud of that award. The awards were made out of thinly sliced, 4 inch diameter tree trunks. Any decent Boy Scout leader would have engraved them, but a sharpie, I guess, had to make do. A hole was drilled in the top and threaded with a shoe lace so we could wear them like Olympic medals. I'm wearing it now.