Ladder

I spent five consecutive weekends building a monolith of a swing set. It had a tower, slide, and rock-climbing wall. We surrounded it with landscaping trim and rubber mulch. I can only assume our setup was the envy of the neighborhood.

The tower had a ladder to get to the first level, where you could climb up to the second level and use the slide or fireperson’s pole to get back down.

The Twins enjoyed playing follow the leader. Ethan first and pushed up the ladder to pass underneath it. Evelyn couldn’t lift it on her own. Being a sweet and caring friend, he lifted the ladder for her. It lifted a little too high and detached from the swing set. The screws that held the two-by-four ladder in place pulled out and dropped on Evelyn’s face. A screw punctured her cheek just below her eye.

Ethan came into the house to get a parent. He was scared and sad. Evelyn followed behind him very calmly. He explained what happened, and she replied she was fine. Meanwhile, a horrifying amount of blood ran down her face. She has a small L-shaped scar on her cheek to show her strength against the pain that day.

Sometimes, while doing my best to help someone, I accidentally make the situation worse. Sometimes, someone else does something to make the situation worse for me. I probably shouldn’t assume they intentionally tried to make it worse for me. When I use things differently than they were designed, they respond differently than intended. Maybe most important, if a small child can take a 2x4 with an exposed screw to the face—my capacity for resolve is greater than I give it credit. My bar is probably too low for what counts as a tough experience.

Will I think through possible outcomes so that my help is helpful? Can I assume others’ best intentions when they increase my difficulty? Should I raise my bar on what I am strong enough to do?

Be curious, be kind, be whole, do good things.