The other morning I hollered at Bosco to come get dressed for the day. His response was, “Hold on! I’m doing something dangerous!” Obviously this isn’t something I want to hear early in the morning when half of my brain is still plopped down on the pillow. Actually, this isn’t something I want to hear my child say ever. He has also been known to say, on numerous occasions, “I’m doing dangerous tings (things). Because I’m a dangerous guy,” like he’s willing it to be so.
But whenever he declares himself as such, the Husband and I usually laugh because, in reality, Bosco is a very cautious little boy. Sometimes he unintentionally gets himself into scrapes, but real (and sometimes unreal) dangerous situations intimidate him. And I liked it this way, for awhile, because I worried less which meant less chance of ulcers, and heart attacks, and pimple outbreaks.
But there comes a point where I know my boy has got to face his fears and overcome them, even if it makes me or him nervous (okay maybe me mostly). This is me trying to be a good parent. Don’t you just want to hug me right now for my efforts?
Water, playground slides, public toilets. These are all on the conquer list. And this weekend Bosco took a huge step, literally, towards overcoming one of those.
During our little stroller trek in the mountains this weekend, we stopped by a waterfall that had shallow water at the base. Crazies were hiking up the falls, and the more stable minded people were playing around near the bottom. The Husband somehow convinced Bosco to be carried to the other side where other children were. This in itself was shocking to me. He hates water. He hates baths. He hates water getting in his ears, eyes, or nose. I don’t know why he hates it. He just does. Just like some people hate pickles or the letter 'X'.
So imagine my surprise when the Husband then convinced him to stand in the freezing water. Not just in the water, but on the water. See I can prove it. My son walks on water.
Then, THEN, he walked through the water back to the other side. Monumental of monumentals folks. He didn’t even cry. Hello! No tears, plus he said he wanted to do it again.
And now he’s got that danger glimmer in his eye. Like he’s a rabid dog on the search for blood. So I suppose from hence forth, when he announces he’s doing something dangerous, instead of thinking he’s probably just sitting in a box, I’m going to have to high-tail it upstairs and take a look-see.
Swimming lessons are on the horizon I think, as are the stress knots in the back of my neck. And I’m okay with that. Just don't ask me to take him on a roller coaster that goes upside down anytime soon. I need more time.