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My good friend Val, a book blogger and reviewer over a Life Is A Patchwork Quilt, asked a great question over on her blog today. What is the most daring thing you did as a child? I was actually not that daring as a child. In college I stole a street sign to help my sister feel better about a bad boyfriend situation. Big deal, right? And while I’d say I was pretty confident, I didn’t take a lot of risks. It got me thinking about my own kids. Eleanor is most definitely what I’d called daring. For instance: the day of the first grade field trip.

I didn’t go, though she’d asked me to chaperon. So after school, I wondered if she was disappointed. She wasn’t. Like most kids, she’d said it was “fine.” I asked her, “Soooooo, anything interesting or unusual happen?”

“Yes.”

Actually not the answer I’d predicted. “Do tell.”

“The bus had to pull over on the way back to school. An alarm went off.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Someone pulled the red handle on the special window.”

“Ha! I always wanted to do that.”

“Me too.”

“Wait, was it you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my god, did you get in trouble?”

“I didn’t tell anyone it was me.”

“Good thinking.”

I left it that. Is it bad that I was secretly proud of her for that?

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