“Mommy, run with me!” exclaims my very active child. These words- this directive- strike fear into my heart. Me? run? Please, please, please no! Every time, I think I may cry. I am the most non-athletic person my son will probably ever know, but he doesn’t know it yet.
That’s because I follow the directive, huffing and puffing along, trying desperately to catch up to him while every joint in my body screams in agony. No, I do not jest. When I say agony, I’m not exaggerating. But I push through for him. I give it my all with a big fat smile on my face, if only to see the look of mirth that settles on his face as he turns happy to see me following.
Via homeschooling, I have been inspired by my son to challenge myself in ways I never knew possible. I have eaten a live worm, sunk my feet into a marsh, handled snakes and run along side him even though it’s number one on my “don’t wanna” list.
For every time he witnesses me, his overly cautious, sensible mother, take a chance with something new and somewhat terrifying he’s suggested, I earn his admiration and trust. Yet most importantly, it is those moments he remembers when he’s being asked to try something new, like eat brussels sprouts, take an art class, write a journal and perform on-stage with his break-dancing class, that give him the courage to at least try it once and give it his best effort.
Article By Nuria Almeida
Picture By Architopher