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I was the world's worst Boy Scout, a member of the Beaver Patrol (not kidding) in Troop 177 in suburban New York. I hated swimming, could barely tie my shoes, and my idea of roughing it was spending a night at a Holiday Inn. I am left with two dominant memories: a paralyzing attack of poison ivy and a family of Eagle Scouts whose favorite activity was leafing through their father's collection of girlie magazines.

As an adult, I've sarcastically described the Boy Scouts as an intolerant paramilitary organization, but I take it all back. Four Scouts died in Iowa in the devastation left behind by a killer tornado. Many more were injured and traumatized. But my memory of this tragedy will be of those surviving boys who have been interviewed by the news media. Their poise, concern, and rich humanity reflects the great training they have received from their Scoutmasters and their parents.

When it comes to telling the story of the storms in the Midwest, the Boy Scouts get it, but some reporters don't. The Scouts come across as decent kids, good friends, and -- God bless them -- prepared. They are polite, fervent, and self-deprecating. Their knowledge of first aid, their can-do attitude, their ability to lead and follow are all brightly admirable, especially at a time when too many boys hold mastery of Guitar Hero as their greatest aspiration.

The Scouts' grace under pressure speaks for itself. Why, then, must we hype them as heroes?

It happened after 9/11, and it is happening time and time again in the face of one apocalyptic disaster after another. It is never enough for some reporters to let a brilliant story with amazing characters tell itself. Instead, it must be pushed, pulled and packaged into tritely convenient story forms designed to tug at the heartstrings. By now we know those forms by heart: the grieving parent; the victim of tragedy; and, of course, the modest hero.

I watched the television coverage carefully, especially on NBC, and was especially frustrated by Ann Curry's performance. She is by reputation a person who performs her work with moral and physical courage, but she also has a tendency to turn compassion into a hammer.

Interviewing one of the Scouts who survived, she said, "It must have been mayhem, screaming, crying. How would describe what you saw? I can see the pain actually in your eyes, Ethan, as I look at you."

Rather than stand back and asking open-ended questions that let these brilliant young eyewitnesses tell their stories, Curry seemed determined to impose her vision of the story, along with her sense of how they should feel.

The word hero, which has its origins in ancient mythology, is used so often and for so many different purposes that it has lost meaning. Heroism is so cheapened these days that almost anyone can qualify. You don't have to be Ironman or a Medal of Honor winner. A cancer patient or caregiver can be a hero. So can a single parent. So can someone who scores a lot of touchdowns or hits a lot of home runs. If we continue on this path, we may reach the point where injury or death of any sort earns you entry into the H-club.

The problem with crowning the Scouts with heroism is not that we will exalt them beyond their worth. It is that we will cheapen their distinctive achievements and values, that we will turn real life survival into some syrupy soap opera or reality show.

In such cases, I find myself most impressed by the soldier, police officer, fire fighter, paramedic who dismisses the label of hero with a simple: "I was just doing my job." By designating them as heroic, we are sending a not so subtle message to the world: that only a special caste of characters give of themselves for the public good.

It helps that the stories of survival come on the heels of another story, this one out of Hartford, Connecticut. By now you have seen the video of an old man being struck by a car. He lies curled up in the middle of the street with numerous citizens looking on and not helping. Their inaction can be attributed no doubt to many causes: fear, confusion, doubt, callousness, alienation, skepticism.  These characteristics do not make these bad Samaritans villains. They make them human.

The Boy Scouts who survived the storm are human too. You have the feeling, though, had they been on that Hartford street, they would have rushed to the aid of the injured man. That would not make them heroes. It would make them part of the powerful force that holds communities together.