Just a few days after her window-frame climb, our granddaughter Rhea stunned us again.
This time, she faced the biggest structure in a popular community park near her home — a towering cone-shaped rope grid. Kids often climb this giant, but it’s designed for older ones. For someone as small as Rhea, it’s a huge challenge: the rope squares are nearly a foot wide — each step is like half her height.
That day, the cone happened to be empty when she stepped onto it. As she climbed higher and higher, people around the park began to stop and watch — not because the tower was hard for big kids, but because no child so small had ever gone so high.
She climbed like a young professional — calmly, steadily — all the way to the top rung of the rope cone.
Grandpa was nearby on the ground, guiding gently:
"Come down slowly."
"Hold tightly."
"Good job, Rhea."
"Yes, move your hand."
A stranger off-camera said in awe, “So brave!” Then asked, “How old is she?”
“Two years and two months,” Grandma replied.
Near the top, Rhea had a tiny slip under her left foot — but it didn’t faze her.
The most remarkable moment came during her descent. Just above the middle metal circle, her little feet couldn’t quite reach the next foothold. For a short moment, she dangled by her arms. Then — calm as ever — she pulled herself back onto the metal ring, found her balance, adjusted her grip, and continued down with grace.
It’s not because she’s strong that she dares to climb.
It’s because she dares to climb that she’s becoming strong.