This image reminded me of when I first learned how to run well (4 years old, maybe?).
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My father was sitting on the front stoop of our house drinking iced tea, and I asked him to count out time, like a stopwatch, while I ran around the house. When I got back, the final count was in the 30's I think, so I tried it again to see if I could improve my time... I guess kids think their fathers have a perfect built in timer? LOL
On this trip I fell down in the gravel driveway on the back side of the house and got a nasty bloody scrape on my knee. Came limping around the house, and my father is sitting there, drinking his tea, smiling, and still counting ...121, 122, 123....
The knee didn't upset me, but the fact that he had just kept on counting made me start to cry.

Then he started to laugh and I stomped off, but got over it quickly. That
may have been the first time I learned there was no crying about
small stuff at our house.
Was it a good lesson?
I used to think so, and it would have been, except I never had anything most people would consider
big stuff happen to me. So I have a tendency to think everything is just
small stuff. That's probably not so good.