I went from living alone, moving at my own rhythm, trying to keep a small business flowing, to sharing a home with a friend and her kid. He’s seven now. Full of energy. Full of questions. And somewhere along the way, he started calling me “dad.”
That wasn’t part of a plan. It wasn’t a role I went looking for. It grew slowly, quietly, over time.For someone with ADHD, and likely Autism, whose internal clock already runs sideways, this wasn’t just a change. It was more like a landslide. Add in winter, a sharp drop in vitamin D, and schedules that don’t overlap so much as pass like ships in the night, and suddenly nothing lines up the way it used to. Yet, that's still fine and we make it work.
I’m a night owl. My day doesn’t really get going until mid-afternoon. Meanwhile, they’re early birds. Or maybe star birds. Bedtime near dinner. Mornings that begin before the sun commits to rising. Different rhythms sharing the same space.
And yet.
I explained boundaries. “If this happens, then this will happen.” Not harshly. Just clearly. Because care without structure isn’t actually care.
His mom leads with a lot of warmth and flexibility. He’s learned how to "navigate" that, like kids do. I’ve tried to bring something a little different into the mix, less loopholes, and more consistency. Not to be strict, but for balance.
And even with that, he still sees me as his “dad.” The one who, on Saturday, took him to two parks. Just the two of us.
That was never about authority. It was about being there.
What’s odd is how responsibility works. We tend to think it arrives in dramatic moments. Big decisions. Clear turning points. But more often, it sneaks in through small yeses. Through agreeing to help and showing up again the next day.
Life rarely presents itself fully formed. It shows up as a snippet. A rough concept. A “we’ll see how this goes.”
Only later do you notice roots forming.
Some responsibilities arrive suddenly. Others grow slowly, almost unnoticed, until one day you realize your decisions carry more weight because someone you deeply care about, is standing downstream.
That’s true in Scouting too.
Becoming a leader often starts small. Helping out. Filling in. Saying yes once. And over time, that responsibility grows. Not because anyone forced it on you, but because care tends to expand when it’s exercised.
I don’t have this figured out. I’m still adjusting. Still learning how to balance compassion with sustainability. Still feeling the weight of wanting stability not just for myself, but for someone who didn’t ask for the circumstances they were handed.
But I’m glad I said yes.
Sometimes the path that turns your life upside down is also the one that teaches you what matters most. And Scouting, at its heart, has always been about preparing us for moments we can’t fully anticipate.
Not with perfect plans. But with presence, patience, and the willingness to grow into responsibility as it unfolds.
Scott Robertson