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| Image credit: Photo by Sam Pullara on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
Six months ago, my family spent an evening at an indoor play area with an overhead play structure that was a labyrinth of plastic tunnels ending in a slide. At the time, my son Austen was eager to climb up and try the slide, yet terrified of the new and unknown. Under the tutelage of a friendly, patient and enthusiastic stranger of about his own age, he managed -- hesitantly and tearfully -- to try it.
This weekend were were back at the same spot for another child's birthday party. "Mama, I want to go down the slide!" Austen told me.
"Ok, buddy," I said, secretly anxious about what would happen once he was faced with the climb up into the tunnel maze. But it turned out that I was the only one who was anxious. Austen zipped into the structure before I could remind him to take off his shoes, and then zipped back down after his sister, hot on his heels, chastised him for forgetting. He tore his shoes off and climbed back up without hesitation. Moments later, I heard him whizzing down the slide with a gleeful, "Wheeee!" and saw his curly head pop out at the bottom.
I thought perhaps he had forgotten all about how scary the structure had once been until he ran up to me, beaming, and said, "I did it! I did it all by myself! And I wasn't scared at all this time!"
"Good job, buddy!" I said.
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