Sometimes We Fall

Last month, we experienced a bit of an icy blast in the Northwest.  My car fishtailed as I took my son to school through the neighborhood.  When we finally parked by the sidewalk, I turned to him and explained that it was very icy outside and that we would have to be careful.  I told him we could hang on to each other, but that we would have to BE CAREFUL.  As I was explaining this, a group of older kids walked by our car.  As if on queue, two of them dropped to the ground right outside his window.  "See?" I said and I used the older kids as an example of not being careful.

I walked to his door and slipped a bit.  "See?" I said. I moved my boot over the ice to show him how slick it was.  I told him to take it slow and pay attention to his steps.  I know, I know.  I'm beginning to annoy myself with all of my motherly warnings.

The boy hops out of the car, both feet fly out from under him and he is INSTANTLY on the ground.  His rear landed with a thud and the wind was knocked out of him.  He was stunned at first and then started crying.

I think my exact word to him was, "DUDE!"  I couldn't have prepped him more if I tried - even having living bad examples - and he flopped to the ground anyway.  But, over the next couple icy days, he didn't come close to slipping again.  Even today, when it was raining outside, he paused before stepping on the sidewalk and asked me if it was slippery.

Sometimes, no amount of warning or talking or examples will make a difference.  Sometimes, our rears have to hit the ground - H-A-R-D - before we can really understand.  But after we hit, it's what we do after that makes all the difference.  We can learn.  We can adjust.  We can become more stable.  Or, we can sit on the sidewalk and cry for the rest of our lives.