I love to backpack. I absolutely love strapping a 35-pound back on my back and heading up to the mountains for a few days of grueling ascents, knee-tearing descents and freeze dried food cooked over tiny flames. I know the idea sounds crazy. My muscles hurt, bones ache, my heart pounds. Sometimes it rains and I dodge lightening bolts on a ridge top. Sometimes the wind howls with such force that I'm sure it's going to rip me right off the mountain. At camp, I have to inch down some steep hillside to find a trickle of water to cook and the meal (when left up to me) is generally pretty terrible. At the end of the day I crawl into a little bag and sleep on the ground. I drift off listening as tiny critters try to reach my food sack strung high in a nearby tree.

And on virtually every trip, there is that inevitable moment of truth when I start muttering; "I can't do this. I can't go another step… I'm just gonna sit down and die right here." As I start eyeing the trailside for a suitable spot my friends usually ask, are we having fun yet? I just want to hit them.

So why do this? Because, on the trail, I witness incredible beauty I could never see otherwise- like the view of over sixty lakes from the top of Maine's Mount Katahdin. On the trail I meet the most wonderful variety of good people. And most of all, on the trail, I run into myself, and my limits. I rediscover every time what I really can do, even when I think I really can't.

Since the tragedy in Littleton I've been thinking about the question of self-reliance. How is it that some kids, faced with soul-searing obstacles, find a way to keep going when everything inside is shouting at them to quit? And how is that other kids, faced with those same obstacles, give up? Or worse, strike out? No one really knows the answer, or why kids like Klebold and Harris made the choices they did. Somehow, though, I think it comes down to a question of faith or a lack thereof, especially in oneself, and in one's abilities to persevere no matter the circumstances. Some kids have it. Some kids don't.

Many believe that children's self-esteem will be damaged by hardship but strengthened by our ability to smooth out the path that lies before them. We don't want our kids to struggle, even for a moment. Yet it's in that very struggle that the battle for self-confidence is won. Maybe we worry too much about making things easier for our kids. Maybe we should make things a little tougher, not to be mean, but so they'll learn early on that they have what it takes. So they will learn that they, too, can find their way, even when the trail is long, and steep.

At that exact same moment, you see, when I feel like quitting, I also know -from experience- that I won't. I know that this hike, like all the others, will make a good story, that I will keep trudging along, and that I will make it to the end of the day even if I'm a good two hours behind everyone else. I'm slow, but very stubborn, and I'll get there. Our kids need to know -- from experience -- that they can do the same.

Copywrite ©1999 Wendy Pitts Reves.