When I was 7 years old, I went into the woods behind my house, built a fire, then fried an egg over it in an old pie tin. When the egg was done, I ate it. I didn’t even like eggs, but because I had cooked it on my own, it was delicious.

I was so proud of my achievement that I ran inside and told my father. The look on my Dad’s face was horror, and I immediately expected to be severely scolded, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Wow, that’s quite an accomplishment. Why don’t you show me your campfire?”

He followed me into the woods and saw that I had properly put the fire out. I still recall the look of relief on his face. He then praised me some more, and finished by saying, “That looks like it was a lot of fun, but next time you want to do this, please include me.”

From the look on his face, I got the message loud and clear. He was concerned about me “playing with fire,” and wanted to chaperone me if I did it again.

The point of this story, however, is that he didn’t yell at me. He didn’t tell me how hazardous it was, how I could’ve set the woods on fire, or burned myself. In short, he didn’t plant the seeds of fear that could’ve made me risk-averse in the future.

 …