The Bridge

There are some things that are sent to try us as parents.  Everyone has different things.  Every child is unique.
For one of my boys, the school cross country is his bridge to cross.  Except his bridge is high above a raging, crocodile infested river, with a rickety broken walkway.  Last year, he hadn't realised his bridge was like that, he didn't think about what his bridge would look like until the starting gun went and 90 kids took off like scalded cats and his nervous breath lasted the first 200m before he realised he was in the wrong race and had run out of puff.  But not tears.

As we approached this years event, the bridge in his mind had got higher still, and maybe there was even fire on it.  It certainly looked difficult to cross.  And scary.

We trained, we talked, we planned. "Run like a turtle, not a hare at the start, run to the bridge then take a break, use all your fuel up on the last sprint to the end, run 90%, walk 10%, " (The Husband didn't agree with that one). When we did little practices, he would run solidly without complaint.  He'd just go.
Race day came,  he ran like a turtle at the start, he didn't stop at the bridge, he sprinted like a madman to the end, he ran "96%, walked 4%" (his words).  He did it.  He crossed his bridge.

Every child has got something.  For my son, school cross country isn't currently his thing.  But when driving home early (via a 7-11 for a slurpee to celebrate), unprompted, my son said "I feel really proud of myself, I got to the end, I made it the whole way."
I think this is the first time he's ever said he's proud of himself, without being asked.

Bridge crossed; tick.

What bridges do you have?  Have you crossed them?