I keep meeting American men in their sixties and seventies who still mention something they did when they were seventeen. Not a touchdown. Not a girl. "I'm an Eagle Scout." They say it the way a Japanese man says the name of his university. Quietly. Like it settles something. So I looked it up. To become an Eagle Scout, a kid has to earn at least 21 merit badges. Then he has to plan, organize, and lead a service project for his own community. Not join one. Lead one. At sixteen or seventeen, he's giving instructions to grown men. In recent years, only about 6 percent of eligible Scouts have made it. In a single year, Eagle Scouts and the volunteers they led put almost 8 million hours of work into their towns. About 153 hours per project. So all over America, there are benches, trail bridges, flagpoles, and church gardens that were built by a teenager who wanted to earn a title. And the title never expires. They have a saying for it. "Once an Eagle, always an Eagle." The first man to walk on the moon was one. Here's what gets me, as a Japanese person. In Japan, the things we're proudest of usually belong to us. Our school. Our company. Our test scores. An Eagle Scout's proudest thing belongs to his town. He built it, he walked away, and now people sit on his bench without ever knowing his name. Somewhere near you, a seventeen-year-old's work is still holding someone up. So, Eagle Scouts. What was your project? And is it still standing?