We had a toddler who fell in the tub and was scared of water after that. What cured it was putting her favorite toys in the tub—but with no water. Lowered her in there, got the expected shriek of fear, and then, wait—this is okay, this is fun! as he played with the toys with her. After that she never showed fear of the tub again (and my husband was a genius for figuring out what to do.)
When the drought in California meant you couldn’t water a lawn, the nastiest of invasive weeds happily filled in the spaces with spikes and sharps and roots that go way deep to get every last drop—making it hard to yank them out. Car tires have been punctured by some of those seeds. But the dandelion! The phases of its flowers denote the sun, the moon, and the stars. It nourishes. Every part of it is soft to a toddler walking through them. Every spring I picture myself sowing dandelion seeds where once the spreader sowed grass.
Louganis hit his head on the Olympic diving board on the way down, bloodying it—in the days when AIDS was very feared and gays were blamed. He came out of the closet and people freaked out over the board when the decent response to that injury was, Are you okay?
We had a moose walk up to our car in Alaska. My husband could have opened his window and reached way up to stroke her belly, but he’s not dumb. Moose have tempers.
I had a family practitioner once say that a paradox was two physicians agreeing on a diagnosis.