A couple of days ago I had a conversation with a child at work that’s stuck in my mind. He was playing on a tyre-swing and called out to ask if I could push him.
I confidently said I could and crawled over to help him. I knelt in the bark pit and gave him a couple of enthusiastic pushes. When the tyre swung round and brushed against my back he immediately said, ‘I don’t want you to push me any more.’ I tried to reassure him it was fine but he got off the swing and told me he didn’t think it was safe for me.
He was right of course.
I was sad I hadn’t been able to push him, touched he’d been concerned for me, and pleased he’d been able to see it wasn’t sensible.
I also felt a bit embarrassed that a six-year-old had been better at assessing the risk than I was.