persistence

F wanted to climb a bigger wall. After conquering everything in the kids’ area she and I walked into the main area with N, her brother, and eventually found a straight-forward enough option, albeit about 10 feet straight up. N busied himself on a nearby structure so I stayed with F as she tried the wall and struggled. Up close it was trickier than it looked from far away and a more sophisticated enterprise than what she had attempted previously. She tried again and couldn’t do it. Then again. As a driven 5 year old, her emotions came into play with each passing attempt, frustration rising. She watched a boy about her size do it and her resolve came back. She tried again and didn’t make it, getting no further than before, only about 1/3 of the way up. The successive failures were starting to weigh on her so the three of us went back to the kids’ area. I watched them both do the kid walls again for awhile.

Eventually it was time to leave - we had lunch and a movie to get to later - but N wanted to go back to main area for one last wall. F agreed to come with me to watch him, but she was slightly unsettled about returning to the room, feeling an internal pressure to try the wall again. I explained that she didn’t have to. But moments later I stood with her, watching as she made several new attempts but each time got stuck about 1/3 of the way up, running out of handholds and lacking the wingspan to reach the spots she needed to ascend, and needing me to help her down again. She was extremely frustrated . “We can just go you know” I said. “You don’t need to do this.” Witnessing her continued discontent part of me really hoped she would just throw in the towel. But she shook her head, determined to continue. And the other part of me said “Okay”.

She sat with me on the floor, looking up at the heretofore unscalable surface. Looking from this perspective we were able to isolate the hand and foot moves she’d need to make, an ascending row of 4 small pink hand holds on her right side and some bigger ones on her left. After a few minutes, she wanted to try again. With a mix of reluctance and resolve, she put her hand on the first handhold and shakily pulled herself to the next. I was behind her, bracing her back again on the way up, but this time was different: She moved with a certainty, the path seemingly illuminating itself in front of her. Her confidence manifested as she ascended, each passing moment solidifying the empirical knowledge that she could do it. Suddenly, she was near the top. I worried for a second because she was out of my control and a slip - or worse frozen panic - would not be good. But F had already crossed the threshold; already neutralized the thing that had dogged her. She pulled herself over the top without ceremony and walked down the stairs to exit at the other end. I felt a profound swell of parental pride having watched the whole process unfold. I gave her a hug and a high five and said “Let’s go have lunch”. She looked at me and said. “No, I’m going again” with complete lack of fear and a confidence that belied everything it took to get her to this spot. It was as if she was now a different person, having defeated the thing that seemed impossible moments prior. She climbed the wall several more times entirely on her own, no need for an adult to brace or stand near.

Later she followed N to an adjacent wall, clearly designed for more experienced climbers, and scaled it along side him with no hesitation. They were both at the top now and I was at the bottom looking up at them.

N leaned over the edge and called down for me to come up. I felt a stir of panic in my belly knowing what was coming.

“I’ll go to the stairs and meet you” I said.

“No, climb up!” he said in his most persistent 8 year old register.

“I’ll go up the staircase and meet you at the top” I said.

“No, climb up!” he said.

“No way” I replied. I’m not climbing up that thing. We’re just here for the kids to get some exercise and to kill time before lunch and Frozen II - we’re not here for me.

“Come on, climb up”

“No”

“Dad, do it!”

No.

“Dad, come on”

No way.

“Dad, come on!”

Just then F leaned over and waved at me to come up. Their two heads were now looking down at me, urging me to do what they had just done.

With a mix of reluctance and resolve, I put my hand on the first handhold and shakily pulled myself to the next and - F’s strength and confidence bracing me at each moment - pulled myself up.

“Okay” I said.