Scouting: Pull Up Another Chair
July 6, 2026
It is past midnight, and sleep is hard to come by, right now.
In a few hours, I will head to my local oncologist for lab work before we travel to New York City for my six-month PET scan. My anxiety is incredibly high. While I know that we will have a definitive plan forward regardless of the outcome, the nerves are still very real. I will keep everyone updated as things progress.
In the meantime, I wrote a reflection on a conversation I recently had with a new Scouting leader. If Scouting is not your primary interest or the reason you visit this website, feel free to skip the rest of this post. However, I believe it contains a valuable leadership lesson for everyone, whether or not you are involved in the Scouting movement or not.
One of the best parts about being involved in Scouting is the conversations that happen after a meeting, or campout. The chairs, or tents, are put away and the coffee is getting cold, when someone asks a question that turns into an hour long discussion.
I had just one of those conversations with a brand new unit leader. We were talking about cliques and how quickly they can take root if no one is paying attention.
That conversation stuck with me. It also reminded me of something else I’ve been watching develop over the last few months in a different Scouting setting.
Over the years, I’ve seen this happen in units, at advanced Scouting trainings for both youth and adults, and throughout other parts of the Scouting program. I’ve also watched outstanding leaders, along with council and national leadership, recognize the warning signs and step in before the problem grew. The difference was never luck. They were paying attention, setting the example, and refusing to let anyone be left standing outside the circle.
The funny thing is that just about every adult believes they would recognize a clique if one started to form. But most don’t.
We're pretty good at spotting the obvious youth sitting by themselves at mealtimes. We're not nearly as good at noticing the Scout who is always "included" but never really belongs. They're there. They help clean up. They smile when you talk to them. They laugh at the jokes. Yet somehow they're never the one asked to lead the hike, cook dinner, teach the new Scout, or represent the unit.
If you're thinking, That would never happen in my unit, I'd encourage you to look a little closer. I say that because I've had to do the same thing. None of us are immune from missing what's right in front of us.
Scouting is supposed to be one of the great equalizers. Young people show up from different neighborhoods, different schools, different family situations, and different walks of life.
They all put on the same uniform. That's intentional. The uniform reminds us that everyone starts on equal footing. Character, not popularity, is supposed to determine who we become.
The patrol method is what makes that promise real.
On paper, it sounds simple. Put six to eight Scouts together, let them elect a patrol leader, give them responsibility, and let them learn by doing. They plan menus, cook meals, solve problems, make mistakes, and hopefully learn from every one of them.
Notice what isn't in that description.
It doesn't say adults disappear.
Sometimes people hear "youth led" and think that means adults should sit back in their camp chairs with a cup of coffee, solve the world's problems, and only get involved if someone catches the Dutch oven on fire. That's not youth leadership. That's adult disengagement.
The adult's role is actually harder than taking over. We are coaches, mentors, and guardians of the culture. We observe the patrol dynamics. We ask questions instead of giving answers. We create opportunities for every Scout to lead. We quietly redirect when one or two personalities begin dominating the patrol. We make sure the quiet Scout has the same opportunity to grow as the outspoken one.
Good adult leaders know when to step back.
Great adult leaders know when to quietly step in.
When adults stop paying attention, the patrol method begins to unravel. The unit slowly becomes less about patrols and more about friend groups. Leadership opportunities start rotating through the same handful of Scouts. Before long, popularity becomes the unofficial requirement for responsibility.
That isn't the patrol method.
That's just middle school with tents.
Sometimes it's obvious.
Sometimes it's as simple as the same four Scouts deciding they're cooking every campout because "they're good at it." The quieter Scout ends up washing dishes again. Nobody intended to exclude anyone. It just happened.
Then it happens again, and again, and again…
Before long you've accidentally created a culture instead of a coincidence.
I've also seen the other extreme.
Every now and then an adult decides they want to be sixteen again.
You know the type. They're always sitting with the same group of Scouts, laughing at the jokes, handing out high fives, and somehow every interesting job finds its way to that same circle of friends. Somewhere along the way they stopped being a mentor and started campaigning for Most Popular Adult.
Young people notice these things far more than we give them credit for.
They notice who gets invited.
They notice who gets overlooked.
Most importantly, they notice whether the adults notice.
One of the ideas I've written about before is assuming noble intent. I don't think most leaders intentionally create unhealthy environments. Quite the opposite. I think most genuinely care.
The problem is that good intentions don't replace awareness.
Leadership begins with paying attention.
As a commissioner, one of the first things I do when I visit a unit isn't look at advancement records or whether the flags were posted correctly. Those things matter, but they aren't what concerns me first.
I'm looking for the Scout standing alone.
Not necessarily physically alone.
Emotionally alone.
The one who hasn't spoken.
The one nobody asks for an opinion.
The one who quietly helps but never seems to belong.
If I can identify that Scout after spending ten minutes in a meeting, chances are the unit leaders can too.
The question isn't whether they saw them.
The question is whether they chose to do something about it.
Every Scout who walks through the door deserves the full promise of Scouting. They deserve to feel safe. They deserve to be challenged. They deserve opportunities to lead. Most of all, they deserve to know they belong.
Years from now, very few Scouts will remember who made the best Dutch oven cobbler or whose patrol won the camporee. They will remember how people made them feel. They'll remember whether someone believed in them. They'll remember whether an adult noticed them before they quietly disappeared.
As adult leaders, we spend a lot of time thinking about what we say. We prepare Scoutmaster's Minutes. We teach knots, first aid, and leadership. We explain the Scout Oath and Scout Law.
The truth is, the youth are watching us long before we ever stand up to teach.
They're watching who we sit next to at dinner.
They're watching who we invite into conversations.
They're watching whether we include the new parent standing by themselves or drift back to the same group of old friends.
They're watching whether we encourage the new assistant leader or leave them wondering where they fit.
They're watching whether we gossip, whether we complain, and whether we treat every volunteer with respect.
They're watching us after the flags are put away.
They're watching us when it gets dark around the campfire.
Those are the moments that reveal who we really are.
If we want our youth to pull up another chair for the Scout sitting alone, they first need to see us pull up another chair for someone else.
Pull one up for the new parent who doesn't know anyone.
Pull one up for the quiet assistant leader who is still trying to find their place.
Pull one up for the commissioner visiting your meeting.
Pull one up for the volunteer who always seems to be on the outside of the conversation.
Inclusion isn't another lesson we teach.
It's a behavior we model.
Culture doesn't change because we spend five minutes talking about kindness at the end of a meeting. It changes because the adults consistently demonstrate what belonging looks like. Young people are incredibly observant. They don't become what we tell them to be nearly as often as they become what they see us doing.
So the next time you're sitting around a picnic table, standing at a campfire, or sharing coffee after a committee meeting, take a moment and look around.
Who is standing alone?
Who hasn't spoken?
Who looks like they're waiting for someone to notice them?
Then do something wonderfully simple.
Pull up another chair.
Invite them into the conversation.
Learn their story.
The youth will notice.
One day, when we're no longer wearing the uniform or sitting around that campfire, they'll do the same for someone else.
That may be the most important thing we ever teach them.