News

As a mother, there’s a constant balance between preparing my child for the world and protecting him from it. It’s a tightrope walk, knowing that certain challenges lie ahead, and understanding that those challenges may feel insurmountable to my son, Pryce, because of his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). Watching him struggle with basic daily tasks, like tolerating loud noises or feeling overwhelmed by bright lights as a toddler, has been heartbreaking. There was a time when simply bathing felt like an impossible feat to him, as the sensation of water was torturous. But I knew—deep down—that to grow, to thrive, he needed to confront these challenges. I cannot protect him forever, and as he’s growing I’ve realized even more how fleeting the time I have truly is. He needed to learn how to do things—like how to swim—how to push through his fears and discover the things that would open up his world.

When Pryce attended Cub Scout day camp the summer between his Lion (Kinder) and Tiger (first grade) year, I knew we were walking into another situation where his comfort zone would be stretched. The pool at McGimsey Scout Park is a beach-entry pool, which, in theory, should have been easy for him to navigate. But, of course, it wasn’t. Pryce couldn’t go into the water without a lifejacket, and every time he hesitated, my heart ached for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to try; it was that his body didn’t understand how to navigate the water, how to trust it. He was terrified, and I knew that fear wasn’t just from not knowing how to swim—it was a deep, gut-level fear of the unknown, of the overwhelming sensations he couldn’t process.

But something had to change. So, we enrolled him in after-camp swim lessons, and determined that this was one challenge he would not avoid. By the end of that first week of camp, he was standing chest-high in the water with a lifejacket, (and enjoying it!) something I thought might never happen.

We found a program outside of Scouts and he took weekly lessons to capitalize on that feeling. The instructors there tried to tell us it was a waste of our money, but we knew better and saw these results the next summer, when Pryce, ever so cautiously, began to venture into the McGimsey Scout Park pool without his lifejacket. He wasn’t a confident swimmer yet, but he recognized something special—the power of conquering his fear. And not just for himself. I’ll never forget the day when he saw other scouts hesitant to enter the water and without missing a beat, he went to them, helping them get into their lifejackets, offering reassurance. He played in the shallow end with them, giving them the confidence to try, just as he had. The whole time, his sensory system continued to learn to adapt, but he just thought he was being helpful.

His progression didn’t stop; as his parents, we knew we couldn’t let it. A child’s sensory system is only sensory seeking for the first 10-12 years, and our window of opportunity to teach is nervous system was closing. Fast forward to 2022, and we signed Pryce up for our neighborhood swim team. He couldn’t do a block start (jump in the pool) and he wasn’t the fastest, but he made it a point to show up, to keep trying, and in one of his heats, he placed third despite not having the off-the-block advantage. That thrid place ribbon is more valuable to him than it would be for others, but serves as a reminder that his persistence and his willingness to keep going despite fear or frustration would always be worth it. Best yet, he passed the BSA Swim test, which opened even more ways to explore and adapt.

Pryce crossed over into the troop last year, and this past summer (2024) his Scouting journey led him to summer camp where he worked on various Merit Badges, including Canoeing! On the first day, he learned that he would have to “swamp the boat” as part of the badge’s requirements. Learning he’d have to capsize and right it sent his anxiety through the roof. He didn’t know that was part of it when he asked me to sign him up for canoeing, but I did. The very thought of tipping over in the water was overwhelming, and by Thursday of camp, he was nearly sick with fear and begged me to let him quit. I told him I knew that this requirement was part of it, and I wouldn’t have signed him up if I thought he couldn’t handle it. Like all the things before, we had to take steps to prepare his nervous system. I held his hands in mine, looked him in the eyes and told him all I wanted was for him to get in the boat. “Don’t decide before it is time to decide.” If he got out on the lake and decided not to go through with it, that was completely acceptable, but to give in to his fear this far from the event was not. The day of, he and I talked to the counselor, explained the situation, and made sure they knew that Pryce needed to do this on his own terms—even if it meant he decided not to—and they assured him his wishes would be granted. “All things in Scouting are a choice,” the counselor said, “not mine, but yours.”

Pryce’s nerves were palpable—I could feel them as I watched from the shore. It had all come to this. Years of therapy, swim lessons, camp, and talking him through the war between his sensory system and his wants. He didn’t see me standing there in the trees along the lake, because I didn’t want him to be pressured by my presence. I watched as the canoe wiggled and stopped. Even from this distance, I recognized his posture. Hands gripping the rolled edge of the craft, head lowered the way he does when he’s trying to control his breathing..all the coping mechanisms we’d learned to center ourselves. But we never practiced them in a metal boat on the water. My heart leaped as I saw him sit tall. Would he do it? He nodded at the instructor and began to rock the boat side to side with his partner sitting across from him. This way, that way, this way that way…Instead of giving up, he pushed through. With the encouragement of his leaders and fellow Scouts, he faced his fear head-on. The canoe slowly rolled over, and I gasped, barrel tears pouring from my eyes.

He did it.

He and his partner dumped the boat and righted it, just as the requirement demanded.

I ran to the shore so I could be there when he and his fellow scouts carried the canoe out of the water. He flashed me an exhausted smile, beaming in a way I’d never seen before. “Mom, that was so much fun! I wanna do it again.”

That afternoon at lunch, with courage and pride in himself still fresh, Pryce asked if he could go white-water rafting with his troop the following day. Heck yes, he was getting on that boat! Without either of us—his mom or dad—by his side in the raft, I watched his team push off the bank and paddle into the center of the river as he embraced this new challenge on his own terms. The child who once feared three inches of water in the bathtub was now excited to navigate the unknown waters with his peers.

It’s important that these milestones, these moments of courage, didn’t happen overnight. They were earned through the hard work of people who believed in him, even when he couldn’t quite see it in himself. Much of that belief came from Scouting, where he has had the chance to fail, to struggle, to give his sensory system time to catch up, to break free of fear, to be brave, to try again—and, ultimately, to succeed.

“I think it’s important to support scouting to keep it running for different types of kids,” Pryce said in his own words. “It teaches them skills and helps them find things they like. They can only do that if they have a way to do that. Scouting includes a lot of activities that they can’t do without Scouting.”

He’s right. Scouting isn’t just about earning badges or advancing in ranks. It’s about providing opportunities—opportunities to try new things, to challenge yourself, to find your strengths and work on your weaknesses. It’s about showing up, even when it feels like you might fail, and knowing that you’ll have a community of leaders and peers who will help you get back up again.

As a mother, I have watched Pryce grow in ways that I could never have imagined on my own. He’s not perfect—none of us are—but he’s learned that he doesn’t have to be. He’s learned that it’s okay to be scared, to try and fail, and to try again. He’s discovered the power of persistence, of pushing past discomfort, and of finding joy in the small victories.

Even though Pryce is only a Tenderfoot Scout, the impact that Scouting has had on his life is immeasurable. The lessons he’s learned, the skills he’s acquired, and the confidence he’s built through Scouting have shaped him into a stronger, braver, more capable young person. This isn’t something my husband and I could have done alone as parents. The volunteers, the leaders, and the other scouts have all played an integral role in helping him grow. Some of them spent years with him, while others only a brief time. But each one has contributed to something bigger than themselves: they’ve helped Pryce—and countless others—discover a world beyond their comfort zone, a world filled with possibility.

Scouting has given my son the tools he needs to navigate life. It has given him the courage to keep trying, the resilience to rebound after setbacks, and the community support to know that he’s never alone in his journey.

And for that, I am forever grateful.

Jennifer Arntson,
Thankful mom,
Proud volunteer,
& Council Publicist for the Alamo Area Council