“Afraid”

He felt the tickle on the back of his neck; that familiar tickle that made him aware he was dreaming. “Please let this one last,” he silently begged.

“I’m scared, Daddy,” Luke whispered. “What if I fall over? What if I can’t stop?”

The summer sun peaked through a cloud trying valiantly to burn away the remnants of the vicious storm. A thick breeze danced around them and fell to the ground without offering refreshment. A hot mist surrounded their feet as the rain-soaked asphalt cooked.

Three younger kids whooshed by them, maneuvering their two-wheelers confidently off the asphalt walkway, onto the grass, and back onto the walkway.

“I’ll be right with you, buddy. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

“Hold on to my seat, Daddy. Don’t let go, OK?”

“You can do this, handsome. I’m so proud of you. Ready?”

“You’re gonna hold on right?” Luke pleaded.

“Look at me, kiddo.” Greg gently turned his son’s chin to face him. There were tears in his boy’s eyes. “I will always be here to protect you. Sometimes, I’ll be a few steps behind, giving you some room to steer. Sometimes, I’ll be watching from far away, rooting and cheering for you as you figure stuff out on your own. You might fall. You might scratch your bike or skin your knee. But I’ll be there to help you up and try again. You are the greatest gift God ever gave me. I can’t promise you will never get hurt. But I can promise that you will never have to fight alone.”

His son began to cry. “I’m scared, Daddy. I don’t think I can do it.”

“I know you can do it, buddy. You are brave and strong and tough.”

“If I’m so brave, why am I shaking and crying?” Luke interrogated.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you are never afraid, kiddo. Being brave means you are scared to death, and try anyway.”

“Were you ever scared?” Luke asked.

“All the time.”

“When were you most scared?”

The honest answer flashed in Greg’s mind in a millisecond. It was the day Luke was diagnosed, but this was one of those rare occasions when honesty was not the correct course.

“I was most scared when my Dad took me on a rollercoaster for the first time,” he lied.

“Did you cry?”

“A lot.”

“Did you want to run away?”

“Yes,” he replied honestly.

“What did you do, Daddy?”

“Well, I convinced myself that I wasn’t big enough; that I wasn’t brave enough; that the roller coaster was made for grown-ups and kids who were stronger than me. People tried to help me. They tried to convince me that I could do it. But, I got angry at them. Then I ran away and hid. They kept looking for me, but I was hiding in a really dark place. They were calling my name and yelling how much they loved me and wanted to help. But, I stayed quiet and huddled in the dark getting more and more angry. Eventually, they stopped calling and I was by myself in the dark and I had ruined the whole day at the amusement park. All because I was scared and doubted myself.”