Baby Kasky sat on the floor with a tiny fruit held just out of reach. His eyes locked onto it instantly. Sweet smell. Bright color. Everything he wanted. But Mom didn’t give it to him right away. Instead, she gently encouraged him to stand.
Kasky tried once. His legs shook. He dropped back down and frowned. The fruit stayed high.
Confusion quickly turned into anger. He cried sharply, throwing his head back, tiny fists pounding the floor. Why make things hard when he was hungry? To Kasky, this felt unfair, even mean. He screamed, demanding the fruit now.
Mom stayed calm. She lowered herself to his level, holding the fruit steady, her voice soft but firm. She wanted him to learn. Standing was important. Strength mattered. But Kasky didn’t understand lessons. He understood effort and frustration.
He tried again, pushing up with shaky legs. For a second, he stood. Then he fell. The failure broke him. He cried harder, temper flaring, tears streaming down his face. He crawled toward Mom, clinging to her leg, begging her to stop.
Mom paused. She hugged him briefly, letting him feel safe. Then she placed him back gently, just a little closer to the fruit. Not too far. Not too easy.
Kasky sniffed, wiped his face, and looked again. Hunger pushed him forward. He stood once more, wobbling, arms out wide. This time, Mom leaned the fruit closer.
One step. Another.
He grabbed it.
The crying stopped instantly. Relief flooded his body. He sat down, clutching the fruit like a treasure, chewing proudly. Mom smiled, eyes soft with love.
Kasky didn’t know it yet, but he had learned something important. Growth can be frustrating. Training can hurt feelings. But someone who teaches gently isn’t being cruel. They’re helping you become stronger.
As he ate, Kasky leaned against Mom, exhausted but calmer. The temper faded. Trust remained.
Today, he learned to stand. Tomorrow, he would learn even more—with tears, patience, and a mother who believed in him, even when he screamed.
