Once upon a time, I was the mother of a little boy who was scared of the bathtub. Who was scared of so, so many things.
He wanted to be brave. He tried to be brave. But when your brain sends you into fight-or-flight mode over the sound of a nearby lawnmower, or the feel of grass on your bare feet, it's hard to brave. It's hard to try new things when you can't process them, when you can't articulate what you're even afraid of, when you can't work those new things out to their logical conclusion.
Even when the logical conclusion is: This is supposed to be fun, dammit.
"I know what that is!" he said, pointing at the rental snorkel gear. "It lets you breathe underwater! Can I try it?"
Uhh. Okay? Sure. Yes.
The thing is, if we'd asked or offered, he probably would have said "NO." And that's okay. We've finally figured out how to sit back and wait for him to ask. To surprise us.
And to always say "yes" when he does, even if it scares us, a little.
Way to go, Noah. You're officially and for-real the bravest kid I know.