Summa Theologica

Grow Your Brave

Were you born knowing how to ride a bike?
No. You learned. You wobbled. You tried again.
Being brave works the same way.

The first time on the big slide, your tummy flipped.
You went anyway.
That’s how you grow your brave.

The first night with no light, the room felt huge.
You stayed in your bed.
That’s how you grow your brave.

Saying sorry when you broke something is hard.
You said it anyway.
That’s how you grow your brave.

Nobody is born brave.
You grow it, a little bit each time.

Brave does not mean you are not scared.
Brave means you are scared.
And you do the good thing anyway.
Some scary things are not good things.
Climbing on the roof is not brave.
If you’re not sure, ask a grown-up.

Say it with me: grow your brave.

Next time a good thing feels scary,
try it. Just a little.
And your brave gets bigger.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: This is the seed of one of Thomas Aquinas’s central ideas in the Summa Theologica: we don’t arrive brave or kind or patient; we become that way by doing brave, kind, patient things again and again, until the doing turns into a habit, which is what he means by a virtue. He also says courage is not the same as daring: rushing at danger for no good reason is its own fault. So hold two things steady as you read. Brave doesn’t mean fearless, and it doesn’t mean trying every scary thing. If your child takes only a tiny step today, that’s the idea working.

Say Their Side First

You want to play tag.
Your friend wants to build blocks.
Uh-oh. Now what?

Before you say your side,
say your friend’s side first.
You want blocks. Blocks are fun.
We could build a tall tower.

Say their side first.

Now your friend knows you listened.
Now your friend can listen too.
Then you say your side.
I want tag. Tag is fast. I like to run.

Say their side first.

You don’t have to give up your side.
You don’t have to pick theirs.
But now you both know both sides.
Maybe blocks first, then tag.
Maybe tag first, then blocks.
You can work it out together.

Say it with me: say their side first.

Next time you want different things,
say what your friend wants.
Say it nicely.
Then say what you want.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Every one of the Summa’s 2,600-odd articles is built this way. Before Aquinas gives his own answer, he sets out the best arguments against it, as strongly as he can; then he answers; then he replies to each objection, granting what is true in it. The child-sized version is to say the other person’s side out loud before saying yours. The misreading to watch for is that saying their side means giving in. It doesn’t: the point is that both sides get heard, and then you decide together.

I Want Good for You

You love ice cream.
You want to eat it all up.
That’s one kind of love.

You love your friend.
You don’t want to eat your friend!
You want good things for your friend.

I want good for you.

Your friend falls down. You help her up.
Your friend has no red crayon. You share yours.
Your friend wins the race. You clap and cheer.

I want good for you.

That’s the other kind of love.
It’s about your friend, not about you.
It’s how friends love each other.
And your friend wants good for you too.

You can’t give everything away.
You still get a turn.
You still get to be happy.
Wanting good for others is not losing.

Say it with me: I want good for you.

Today, find one friend.
Do one good thing, just for them.

A note for the grown-up

For the grown-up reading aloud: Aquinas borrows Aristotle’s definition, “to love is to wish good to someone,” and splits love in two: wanting something good for yourself (the way you love wine, he says) and wanting good for another person for their own sake. Only the second is friendship, and friendship goes both ways. The misreading to fence is that loving people means giving everything away or always letting them win. Wishing someone good doesn’t cancel your own turn, and a child can practice it in small, concrete acts.