When Radley was learning to walk, nearly six years ago now,
I made a very hard, very conscious decision about how I was going to approach
the milestone. As any first time parent
will tell you, the first year of your first child’s life is excruciating. While full of delight, awe, and endless photo
opportunities, that first year is also plagued with uncertainty and fear. Because this thing is cute. It’s also brilliant. Duh.
You made it. It must be the most
magnificent creature to ever grace your friends’ news feed on Facebook. Just to be clear, I didn’t know what Facebook
was when Radley was born. Anyway, you
get the idea. And if you are a parent,
you remember that first year of your first child’s life with marvel and
clarity. You also remember the dismal
feeling you felt when your child made the first foray into upright
mobility. Horrifying.
Anyway, the first time I saw that precious little dude pull
himself up on the couch, clumsily try to balance himself on his own two feet, I
had a very quick coming-to-Jesus moment.
I knew he was getting ready to fall.
I had to decide how I was going to deal with the inevitable
crash-N-burn. While I was marveling in
my 8-month old and his clearly advanced development, I knew he was going to was
going fall. In that minute, I decided
that I wasn’t going to run to him. I
wasn’t going to hold him while he cried.
I wasn’t going to coddle him. Instead,
I was going to applauded him for getting back up.
Now be reminded, this is an evolution that only I was there
to experience with my son. The entire
event transpired in less time than it has taken me to retell the story. Actually, it was a matter of seconds. I had to feel the pride, the accomplishment, the
mommy moment. Then immediately, I had to
decide how I was going to deal with the defeat that would surely follow. And it did.
As I watched my baby cry after his very first fall from
grace, I fought every instinct my body was screaming at me. My natural response was to run to him. To pick him up and hold him in my arms. To kiss him until he didn’t hurt anymore. I
didn’t do that though. What I actually
did was smile and clap and sing his praises for being brave enough to try and
try again. I didn’t run to his
rescue. I just acknowledged his
efforts. It was that decision, made in
seconds of uncertainty, that changed my outlook on life and probably guaranteed
Radley’s college fund will be exhausted on therapy before he is of college
age.
So, this trip down memory lane brings me to today, when I
saw my girlfriend post something really poignant on Facebook. I know.
I know. You are thinking that
nothing poignant ever happens on Facebook.
But really. It did today. One of the women nearest and dearest to my
soul said to the internet: “How many
times I have fallen, is how many times I have gotten back up.” Lynda doesn’t
let her emotions get the best of her.
She doesn’t fall very often, but when she does she pulls herself back
up. She did that today. And I applauded her.
Lynda is at a place in her life that I am very familiar
with. It’s a place that is going to be
very dark and very lonely for her. It’s
a place where she is going to question every fiber of her being. It’s a place I wouldn’t wish on strangers,
much less the people I love. But sometimes,
it doesn’t matter how much we try to protect our loved ones from the fall, they
need to experience it. Even if the fall
has no other purpose than the recovery.
There is strength in defeat.
There is weakness in victory. In
the balance, it’s all the same. We’re
all just trying to survive. Just like
those seconds when I had to decide how I was going to raise my child when he
first started walking, I also decided the kind of friend I wanted to be. I can’t stop you from falling, baby, but I
can be your biggest fan while you get back up.
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