Lots of parents consider their child their "pride and joy." Children have a way of teaching us in many ways, to be sure. A powerful lesson was brought to my attention yesterday by observing two young children playing on a playground. Both boys were about four years old. One of the boys had, quite literally, dug himself a hole in the ground and then proceeded to ride his bike into it. I'm not sure what his objective was in doing so, but eventually, he found himself stuck in the hole he'd created for himself. One of his friends silently watched the scenario play out and carefully responded by saying, " Do you need help? I can help you". Starkly, the boy stuck in the hole replied by stating that he could do it himself. To the boy's credit, he did manage to get out of the pit by himself, but only after a great deal of hassle, eventually backing out of the pit the way he had entered.
I laughed silently to myself, thinking, he was so stubborn not to let his friend help him. Silly boy. However, after a little reflection of my own prideful nature, I realized that I am like the boy in the pit more often than not. I was raised to be self-sufficient and if you really needed something then as a last resort, you asked for help. It wasn't other people's job to make up for your own mistakes. Because of that principal, I learned a good work ethic and to respect good, honest, independent people. Unfortunately, this principal has a not-so-positive flipside: pride. Even as a fourth-grader, I remember stubbornness coming into play. I recall quite vividly arriving at school only to remember that we were going on a leaf walk that day. It was late fall in Ellensburg, Washington and there was ice on the ground. Ellensburg is notorious for its skin-splitting wind, too. I had forgotten my coat and gloves, but I knew it was my own fault and was not about to ask for any help. I remember the teacher asking me if my jacket would be warm enough, and me being full of shame for forgetting. So much so that I replied by assuring her that it was quite sufficient for our leaf walk.
It was a walk to remember— for all of the wrong reasons. My hands were stinging with pain from the cold and I silently shivered because the knit jacket was hardly enough to keep me even lukewarm in the frigid cold. But not once did a complaint slip from my little mouth because I was too proud to ask for help. There have been several instances since the fourth grade that I have found myself in similar situations — not asking for help — even when those who care about me openly offer it. I think we would all do well to remember the little four-year-old and the pit. Sure, we are capable of doing a lot on our own and maybe sometimes we don't deserve the help, but that's what we are all here for— to experience, learn, and grow from our mistakes. I firmly believe that we weren't placed on this earth alone because we needed to learn from each other's strength and love — even to rely on it. So, if, on occasion, you find yourself stuck in a pit, go ahead and accept someone else's help. Sometimes they need the lift just as much as you do.
