The Swimming Badge

When my son was in first grade, he came home wearing a sticker that said, "I want to be a Cub Scout."

"Pleeeeease?" he said, doing his best to look angelic.

It wasn't a hard sell. His big sisters, then 13 and 14, had been in Girl Scouts since they were in kindergarten. I'd been a leader for almost as long. He'd watched his cousins participate in Cub Scouts, often at our house, for the den that his dad led. Our church sponsors a Cub Scout pack, Scout troop and Venturing crew, but boys can't join until they're 8. That just seemed like far too long to wait to my 6 year old.

The local district was starting a Scoutreach troop at my son's public school, hoping to serve an area and a population of boys that was "underserved." So, we signed up my cherubic son, who was delighted to finally be a Scout "like everybody else."

He excelled. He loved virtually everything that his den did. Even after he turned 8 and joined the church sponsored pack, he stayed in his school pack for another year, doubling up on his opportunities. His shirt became covered in Arrow Points, and he built Pinewood Derby cars and Raingutter Regatta boats with gusto. The ceremonial decorated arrow that he was given when he earned his Arrow of Light still hangs in our living room now, during his senior year of high school.

From the time he was 7 years old, he wanted to become an Eagle Scout.

He loved Scout camp. At first, he could only attend with his dad accompanying him. They usually went with a buddy and his parents, and came home dirty and happy. As he got older, he went with his leaders and other boys – Dad stayed at home.

Some badges, such as those in rifles and archery, can only be earned at camp. Others can be earned anywhere, but are frequently done at camp because it's convenient. Swimming is one of those.

My son's not an expert swimmer. All of my kids love water, whether it's pools, oceans or what have you, but only one is a true water baby. She has always swum like a fish, and could not comprehend what her siblings were thinking when they wanted to wade or build sandcastles. To her, you're not in the water until you're over your head, so what's the point of the shallows?

I love water, but my swimming is very rudimentary. It gets the job done, but I have no real "technique."  It's very rare that I want to be in deep water. I lasted maybe 30 seconds in a two person kayak with my husband this summer before I made him take me back to shore. I have to ease into anything, especially anything concerning deep water, and he doesn't know how to ease in. He shoved off from the shore and we were in deep water, rocking back and forth, within 5 seconds – and then he headed for deeper water, with the kayak riding the waves, tipping side to side. The swaying motion did me in. I had close to a meltdown and had to be taken back to the beach immediately. Elementary school aged children stared at me like I was a science experiment. "It's OK if you fall in," one said to me. She didn't realize that I'm not as worried about drowning as I am of having a heart attack, right there in the boat, in my life vest.

I'm pretty sure it's genetic. My brother doesn't even wade. He literally will not go into knee deep water. He doesn't generally walk down to the shore and let the waves splash his feet. He remembers being like this at 4 and 5 years old, despite never experiencing a water trauma. So do I.

At camp, the areas you can go into are governed by how well you do on the swim test. At Boy Scout camp, the swim test includes jumping into water over your head and a 100 yard swim. In 8 years of camp, my son only got deep water clearance once, and that was totally OK with him.

As he got older, the badges took more work, but he still coasted.

Sometimes we ran into snags, usually having to do with lost records. He had to repeat his efforts on a few badges, which annoys the perfectionist in him. Once, at a merit badge clinic, the counselor promised to mail his Blue Card (the official record you need in order to earn your badge) to him after the clinic closed. It was an Eagle required badge, and it not only was never mailed to us, we couldn't track down the counselor. The council couldn't give us her contact info (privacy issues). So, he had to re-do an entire Eagle required badge. (In all, he completed every requirement 3 times, but the paperwork only went in to the council once.)

Then we hit a few more serious snags. To attain Eagle, you must earn a cycling, hiking or swimming badge. We hike fairly frequently, but it's usually easy, casual hikes that don't count toward the badge. His entire troop worked on the cycling badge together, and he got every requirement except one – a 50 mile bike ride in 8 consecutive hours. He managed 40 miles. He's asthmatic, and after that it was just too hard to breathe. The next year he tried again, and made it to 38 miles. No matter, we thought, he'll get one of the other badges.

Even when his troop completed a 50 mile, 5 day backpacking trip along the Pacific Crest Trail, those hikes did not count toward his hiking badge. (He likes to remind me, too, that because of snow on the trail they had to detour, and only made 48 miles. He brings this up every time I tell someone that he completed a Scout 50 miler; stickler.) Neither did the week long pioneer reenactment trek that he did two summers ago, or our volcano climb in Hawaii this year. "Forget it," he said. He would not consider the hiking badge if none of his experiences counted toward it.

That left swimming – ah, swimming.

Some kids breeze through the swimming badge, even non-athletic kids. My son doesn't consider himself an athlete, but he spent 5 1/2 years in karate lessons, where he competed in monthly tournaments (and won a few awards). He's now in his 6th year of fencing lessons, and he's very good. (His own assessment is that he's "OK" at fencing.) He's just short of scuba certified; he needs two more dives, and we just never get around to scheduling them.

Still, even his scuba training and our frequent snorkeling excursions do not count toward the swimming badge. They're very specific requirements. He'd done more than half of them at camp, but the remaining requirements were kicking his butt. He finally crossed off one of the difficult ones in passing all the swim test requirements at camp, but there were 2 left that were just vexing. He needed to dive headfirst, not jump feet first, into water over his head. He also had to complete a 150 yard swim with certain prescribed strokes. "I can't," he said repeatedly. "100 yards nearly killed me."

He researched and proposed an Eagle project with a community partner, the local wildlife park. It was reviewed and accepted by the council. He would re-landscape a large, two tiered planting bed that had become a hazard, and had actually caused injuries to children. Work started off with a bang, a rousing success with Part 1, digging out and disposing of invasive cactus, and is set to conclude later this month with the completion of Part 2, planting and identifying native plants.

Still no swimming badge.

The only badge besides swimming that he has to complete is one in which he's already completed the requirements, and now simply has to review them with his Merit Badge counselor. It's Citizenship in the World; after two Student Ambassador trips abroad over the last two years, it's almost ridiculously easy for him. Asked to compare the US government to that in other countries, he can draw on such experiences as the time he attended a lecture by a member of Britain's Parliament, specifically designed to teach the similarities and differences between our systems.

Filling out his worksheets recently, he looked up from one requirement – to participate in an "event such as an ethnic festival, concert, or play," and wondered aloud whether he should write down one of his experiences in Europe, his visit to an Aboriginal village in Australia (where he learned mythology, spear throwing and didgeridoo playing), or his role in a play telling the true account of a man who was the director of an orphanage in the Warsaw ghetto during WWII.

("Shut up, you jerk," said his big sister. "I hate you." She adores him, so she says this sort of thing often.)

It was beginning to look as if ONE requirement on ONE badge would keep him from earning his Eagle - his 18th birthday, the deadline to finish, is looming.

Let me practice full disclosure here. I never thought of myself as particularly driven or goal oriented as a kid, and I was slightly puzzled when I was referred to as an overachiever. I just thought of myself as bright and capable. Still, I frequently earned honors that others around me found rather astonishing.

I was one of only two girls my age in my congregation to earn a particular religious award. It took six years to do so. I had joined this church, with my parents' blessing but somewhat to their bafflement, when I was 12. My father thought it was a phase that would pass. My mother drove me to every meeting I wanted to attend (and never bad-mouthed my choice), but she would have been OK with it if I had come home one day and said, "You know, this church thing just isn't for me." When I earned this award, I heard, over and over, that, "It's hard enough when you have parental support!" and, "I can't imagine doing this without your parents' support!" First, I felt like I had support – they let me come to church, didn't they? Plus, I was not impressed if a kid accomplished something because their parents pushed them. Then, I felt, it was the parents who accomplished it, not their child. If something was important to you, you did it. If it wasn't important to you, no amount of "support" from your parents would get it done.

At school, I was usually a straight A student. My parents were happy about that, but they didn't see it as amazing. Others did.

I wasn't even trying to pad a college application or best my classmates, and I still racked up some pretty cool awards – from the National Council of Teachers of English, from participation on the debate team, for my work on the school publications, from service club speech contests, for my work in the school's theater department. Outside of school, I won a weekly competition on the local TV show "Talent Search and You!", a precursor to today's myriad of TV talent shows. I was one of the only actors in a field of singers and musicians, and I still came in second on the Grand Search, where the winners competed against each other.

My father informed me, the week after I graduated from high school, that "all your accomplishments mean nothing." His reasoning – I was "not a well rounded person," because I had never played on a high school sports team. (Way to be supportive, Dad.)

Here's the disclosure part: as much of a go-getter as I may have been, even if I had been working toward a goal for 10 years, if reaching it required me to dive into deep water, there is NO way I would have accomplished it. Zero chance. Pigs will fly and Hades will freeze over first. I am 46 years old, and I have never jumped off of a dock, a diving board, or the edge of a pool. NEVER. I cannot imagine such a thing happening. It goes without saying, then, that I have never done an actual, hands over the head, headfirst dive.

People whose kids have been doing this kind of thing since they were 3 or 4 have been baffled as to why my intelligent, accomplished, healthy and physically fit 17 year old son could not seem to handle these swimming tasks. When I said, "I wouldn't have been able to," I could see some of them mentally rolling their eyes. They seemed to think, "Yes, but you're fat," "Just get over it and do it," or "You've caused your son to fear the water." I really didn't want to discuss it. My kid has jumped off of a boat and swum to the bottom of Lake Tahoe as part of the required deep water dives in scuba training. He does not share my fear of water; he may lack skills and experience, but that's different.

He went to the pool with his merit badge counselor last spring, did a painful belly flop while attempting a dive, and passed on continuing the session. "Have him spend a lot of time in water, until he's really comfortable, before we try this again," the counselor said.

We visited our doctor's office several times, consulting with the physician's assistant. Tests showed that, while his asthma was a factor, it wasn't bad enough to qualify him for a medical exemption, which would have enabled him to complete an alternate badge, such as archery or sailing. His hypoglycemia, while again a possible factor (especially with fatigue) is mild.

 He tried the PA's suggestion to use his inhaler just before he swam, but he still couldn't make 150 yards. 75 was about the limit.

I can't stand to hear my child say "I can't" (even though I knew that I probably could but never would.) I didn't want to see him come this far to give up.

Partly by design, party by chance, he spent most of the summer in the water. A couple of times a week, he'd go with his sister to a friend's apartment and swim in the complex's pool. Then he went on the second of his Student Ambassador trips, where he spent time in hotel pools, swimming holes under waterfalls and in the Pacific Ocean at the Great Barrier Reef. (Yeah, it's a tough life, but somebody has to live it.)

When he came home, the physician's assistant had another suggestion. "Google 'carb loading for a marathon.' Feed him that way, then have him use the inhaler. Let's see if that does it."

Mondays my middle daughter is off work, so we usually do something fun. The next Monday, we carb loaded my son, and I took a list of the undone requirements with us to the pool.

He tackled the 150 yard swim first. I offered to swim next to him – I'd looked up the strokes online, and I was prepared to swim the entire thing in the lane next to him, despite the fact that the lanes go all the way across the pool, and therefore through the deep end. "I don't need anyone to swim with me," he said, in a voice that indicated that the suggestion was on a par with having him wear water wings or an embarrassing, badly hand knit holiday sweater. So much for "parental support." Still, because I'm the mom, and I was stoked, I swam or walked next to him when he was in the shallow end, telling him when he had to switch strokes (there were 5 required). He breezed through it like it was nothing. When he finished, he was a bit winded, but remarkably calm about the whole thing. I was practically bouncing up and down.

After resting for just a few minutes, he was ready to tackle the diving. This was his sister's territory. She demonstrated. He was nervous, but he mimicked his sister, and in he went, like he'd been diving for years. He came up and did a second one just for good measure. Then, he dove down to retrieve an object from the bottom of the pool (another requirement), and very matter-of-factly went off to enjoy the rest of our pool time.

I expected the heavens to open and angels to sing; no such thing happened. The kids played, and mocked me for staying behind the rope in the shallow end.

He scheduled the last requirement – jump fully clothed into water over your head and tread water while you demonstrate how to use your clothes for emergency flotation – for the following week at the apartment pool. His counselor signed off on the badge, and soon we had a Blue Card in our hands. I treated it like gold.

The finish line is in sight now.

Of course, it's about the journey as much as it is about the destination.

Wolf Cubs and Backpacks

The speaker at our Rotary Club last night was from the Food Bank. His talk reminded me of this Scout project, even though it's been years since I was a Wolf Den leader. I wrote this just after we completed the project.

Knowing that you've fed someone is an amazing feeling. Knowing that you've taught children to think of others, and to do something with those feelings, is even better.

******************************

As a Scout leader, you want to involve your Scouts in service projects, to get them to think beyond themselves, and beyond their neighborhood. Since I've spent years leading both Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts, I've had the chance to help kids take on a number of projects.

Some service is fairly obvious and easy. Every Scout group I know of does a holiday food drive. My Girl Scouts also served food at a homeless shelter and tied baby quilts. My Cubs helped clean up neighborhood trash and sang Christmas carols at a nursing home. Then, while leading a Wolf Den (8 year old boys), I found an opportunity to help them think of kids their own age, living in the same community under radically different circumstances.

Our local Food Bank runs a backpack program at schools with a large number of students on free lunch and breakfast programs. Since a number of the children live in motels, shelters or campgrounds, and depend on the school for meals, they might not get anything to eat all weekend. So, the Food Bank sends them home every Friday with a backpack of no cook, individual servings of nonperishable foods. I thought that having our boys participate in a program aimed at other kids their age would help build empathy.

None of the boys in our pack are wealthy, but they lived in an entirely different universe than the kids we'd be helping. Our Cubs live in a variety of homes – apartments, condos, houses, rented or owned. They may have to share bedrooms, but not a bed. Some of the boys took advantage of the second-hand uniforms the Pack offered, but none, I'm sure, could imagine being perpetually hungry.

First, I explained the program to them, and told them what we'd be doing and who would benefit. Then, I asked them to try to imagine living in a motel room. "Your whole family is in one room. There's one or two beds, and you all have to share or sleep on the floor. There might be a table for you to do homework on. You can watch TV, but there's nowhere to play outside. There's no yard, no playground. There's a bathroom, but no kitchen. You have no refrigerator, no microwave, no stove." We talked a little about what that might be like.

Then, I asked them what they'd have for breakfast on weekends.

"Cereal!"

"OK, but you have to eat it with your hands, straight out of the box. There's no milk because you have no refrigerator to keep it in."

They looked stunned. "You might not have a bowl or spoon, either. There's hardly any room, and you'll need it for everybody's clothes and school books."

They took a moment before somebody yelled out another suggestion. You could see them thinking that maybe this wouldn't be so easy.

"Instant oatmeal!"

"Nope. You have no way to boil water, and no microwave."

"Cream of Wheat!"

"Same problem. No microwave, no stove."

"Pop Tarts!"

"OK! You can have Pop Tarts. But they'll be cold. You have no toaster."

"At home, we use a toaster oven."

"We do, too," I told them, "but you can't have one in a motel. They aren't allowed."

"That's OK. I like my Pop Tarts cold," one Scout said gamely.

We eventually decided that for breakfast, we could have, besides cold Pop Tarts, granola bars, fruit and cereal bars, premade Rice Krispie treats, fruit snacks, applesauce or fresh fruit. I pointed out that fresh fruit was something we couldn't collect, because it would spoil before the Food Bank had a chance to sort and deliver it.

Then we moved on to lunch. "What would you have for lunch?"

"Macaroni and cheese!" one excited Scout piped up. "I make it all the time. It's really easy. And, it's good."

"You can't boil the water. Besides, you have no butter or milk, because you have no refrigerator to keep them in." The look on this boy's face said that he simply could not imagine being unable to make macaroni and cheese. It was a completely foreign idea.

"Ramen noodles!" one boy offered. These are the sorts of foods you start being able to cook for yourselves when you're eight years old.

I felt like a broken record. "No stove, no microwave, no way to boil water."

"What about the cups of instant ramen noodles?"

"You'd still need to boil water. You could try hot water out of the bathroom, but it wouldn't be hot enough and wouldn't work very well."

Several of their next suggestions – Spaghettios, canned ravioli, canned soup – could be eaten cold out of the can. When someone said, "Sandwiches!" I thought that they were finally internalizing the restrictions. "What would you put on your sandwiches?"

"Ham!"

"Turkey!"

Again, I explained that meats needed a refrigerator. A boy ventured, "Cheese! Grilled cheese."

"You can't grill it. You don't have a stove or a pan. And cheese goes bad out of the refrigerator, too."

"Tuna fish comes in a can!" One Scout was sure he had it figured out.

"Tuna is high protein, and that's good. It comes in a can or a pouch and doesn't need the refrigerator, and that's good." The boy smiled. "But, you usually mix it with something before you put it in the sandwich. What is that?" Mayonnaise or salad dressing, I told them, also need a refrigerator. "But have you ever seen those little cans of tuna spread that come with crackers? Those are really good, and everything is right there in the package. They also make those lunch packages with ham spread."

They still hadn't guessed my favorite sandwich filling, and one that the Food Bank specifically requested. "What else can you put in sandwiches?" After a few nonfeasible suggestions such as egg salad and a few, "I dunnos," I said, "How about peanut butter?"

"Yeah! Peanut butter and jelly!"

Maybe not jelly, I told them, since a lot of jams and jellies need refrigerated after opening. "But peanut butter is high protein, and doesn't need a refrigerator, so it's a really good choice. You can have it on bread or crackers."

I suggested nuts or beef jerky, too, since they are both high protein. Protein is a big deal, I told the boys, because it's what builds cells in our bodies. "But protein foods are expensive, so if you don't have a lot of money it's hard to get enough." None of the boys thought a lunch of beef jerky sounded too wonderful, but I assured them that when they got older and went on Scout camping trips, they'd find out it was a great camping or backpacking food, too. I brought up other foods like trail mix, a term that puzzled them until I said, "It's like granola."

To go with our sandwiches, crackers or jerky we talked about raisins, granola bars, and the crackers or pretzels or breadsticks that come packaged with cheese spread. That kind of cheese, I told them, doesn't need a refrigerator. Plus, they come in individual containers. I reminded the boys often that we needed individual containers. "It costs more that way, but if you have nowhere to store food or leftovers you can't open a big jar of applesauce. It will go bad. You need the little single serving cups." We talked about individual cans of fruit, and how the pull top made it easy even if you didn't have a can opener.

When we got to, "How about dinner?" the boys were stumped. They couldn't think of anything else we hadn't talked about.

"So, you'll probably have the same kinds of stuff for dinner that you had for lunch. If you had peanut butter sandwiches for lunch, you'll want something different, like tuna and crackers, for dinner." I thought about asking what these kids we were collecting for might have for special occasions, but feared that would sidetrack the Scouts' thinking. I had a note prepared for their parents, but I wanted suitable foods and the reasons for them firmly in the boys' heads.

The notes went home, and the next week the food came in. I was so proud - there was not a single inappropriate donation. Some boys brought used backpacks, too, and I spent time with a Sharpie obliterating their names and info.

The Food Bank was delighted by our 29 pounds of donations. They sent the den a thank you note.

When the boys get older, there will be time for them to contemplate the roots of poverty, and how to fix those issues. They'll be exposed to debates about how drug abuse affects both poverty and child abuse. They may struggle with questions about helping kids whose parents fail to provide basics because of substance abuse. But for the moment, at eight years old, their world had broadened just enough to imagine, "What if it was me?" They reached out to other children with compassion. That's a pretty good day's work.