... several years ago, from route 215's little bridge over the damariscotta river where it empties into salt cove, i watched ... her mother, sitting in the car listening to the radio, not doing a very good job of hiding her nervousness—her father leaning against the hood of the vehicle perhaps twenty feet or so from her, he doing a most wonderful job of appearing completely relaxed—she exploring the opening in the ruins of the old mill's retaining wall, then carefully climbing along the narrow ledge that jutted out above the cool water of the mill pond ...
... parents, having the courage to let go ...
... a child, learning to be brave ...
... if she's lucky, someday she'll thank her teachers for this lesson, while for them it will be enough to know she learned it ...