We're All a Little Kid Sometimes...

NOTE:  This was originally written 7 years ago, but I felt it worthwhile to post it today.  You see, I often feel like young Garrett in this story - sometimes reluctant to take risks, yet letting the sense of adventure take over, and enjoying the thrill that comes with it.  Until, that is, I feel in danger and/or scared that I might not make it through.  Like Garrett, I often end up with scrapes and bruises, but I can relate to the young bloke in so many ways...

Enjoy the read; I know as a father I sure enjoyed the moment:

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We recently moved into an older house.  It is one of those older homes (read: bigger yard, mature trees) which has been recently remodeled (read: stainless steel appliances and granite countertops).

I’d like to think it’s the best of both worlds; the marriage of the old and the new, reminding us both of the Earth’s stability and this life’s ever-changing nature.

Most of our trees are beginning to turn colors this time of year; if they were suddenly transplanted to New England, the leaves would announce fall with bright hues of red and orange, singing one last song before their slow descent to the front lawn.  Here in Southern California, they turn yellow, and then brown, but their unique beauty is a welcome sight nonetheless.

The fall brings about new joys and experiences—I even taught my boys how to rake leaves the other day; there is something so normal, so natural about doing this type of work.  Yes, it’s a bit taxing, and I may not find it enjoyable 10 years from now when they would rather be inside listening to their music, insulated from the elements outside, but right now, it is a reality just this side of heaven.  They rake, with instruments twice the size they are, forming a nice big pile in the grass, only to jump in it and bring cause to begin the process anew.

In the far front of the yard sits an oak, regally planted between the sidewalk and the street.  It is the oak that draws Garrett’s attention this day; he is drawn to the mystery that lies within the branches up high.  There is something in a boy that sees height as something to be conquered.  And so I lift Garrett up into the first layer of branches; thick stalks that would hold many adults—I am not worried about his three and a half year old frame taxing the aged branch.

After some time of content gazing from above, Garrett takes a step toward a higher branch.  Scared and cautious, he manages his way up about two feet from where he began, finding another safe hold for his feet to rest.  With a slight look of triumph, he gazes down at me, announcing his new ascent, his conquered quest.

As with any of us, this too becomes commonplace after a short while, and the higher branches tempt him still.  As he asks for permission to continue climbing, I assent reluctantly, for I cannot reach where he wants to go; were he to slip or fall, I would have to pluck him out of the air, rather than merely stabilize his footing.

Gaining bravado, he climbs to his desired destination.  I, a proud father, look on, watching the seeds of a young man sprout in my son before my very eyes. 

It is time to leave now, time for Garrett to get down from the tree.  It is here that the dilemma sets in—that same dilemma that paralyzes most adults from climbing anything in the first place: he begins to learn firsthand, that it is far easier to go up than to come down.

I see fear in his eyes as he asks for help down.  I remind him that I cannot reach; that this is something that he needs to conquer himself.  I offer to coach him through it, but lovingly assert that this tree is his to conquer, and that he needs to do it on his own.

This bred much fear in Garrett, since there is none among us who wouldn’t rather have a helping hand in a situation such as this.

But something far greater began to emerge, slowly winning over the fear.  As it began to settle in his mind that my offer to merely coach him down the tree was one made of love, an offer that communicated that I was not going to leave him, that I was there to guide him, to cheer him on in his quest, I saw a flicker of courage snuff out the fear that had captured him.

This courage came and went, then came again. Like the rising tide of the ocean, however, I could sense the courage winning out over the desolation of paralyzing fear.

Listening to my words, and with much coaching, encouragement, and assurance from me, Garrett made the frightening descent to a lower branch.

This left him with a few scrapes on his shins, slightly shaky legs, but with the overwhelmingly proud look of a young boy who had conquered, of a boy who had experienced one of the myriad moments of initiation that occurs in a lifetime, and an initiation that was won, where for a moment, fear had lost, and the seeds of a brave and courageous heart were sown.