The other day I was chatting with a friend who is dealing with medical issues. Her daughter's foot lost a stirrup when they were riding together and she fell off the horse. Then the gelding accidentally stepped on her chest, leaving a hoof print, broken collarbone and ribs, and puncturing a lung. 

While her little girl was protected by an impact vest and helmet and will be alright, it has been rough. Multiple trips to CHOP, her husband out of the country, surgery, all crammed into what was meant to be a relaxing summer. But as I listened I noticed an absence of something. Complaining. 

Insurance has been, well, complicated, and coverage has had holes big enough for a lot of zeroes to slip through. My friend spun the story as a kind of adventure, completely lacking in anger, fear or resentment. I have heard serious self pity with much less material, say an earache at midnight or two days of upchucks. Yet she chose to be grateful for the miracles tucked in between the struggle. 

I asked the little girl about it as she sewed a button on her black ruffled skirt. 

"Were you mad at the horse?"

"No, he didn't mean to. I wanted to give him a treat," she said as she tugged the needle through the fabric.

Did I hear that right? She had endured cracked bones, compromised breathing, and an ambulance ride, yet her sympathies were with the animal? I remembered her mother's way of swiveling the attention off of herself and on to her daughter, and recognized the same tactic in this child. She was not too preoccupied with her own pain to empathize with the horse. 

I thought about my own parenting. Have I given my kids an ongoing practice session in ways to feel slighted, or reasons to give thanks? Either way they are probably emulating me.

For the full story read her mother's blog