Weighing Risks and Rewards

My kids and I were watching a hockey game last week. A player slid into the boards and lay hurt on the ice for a few minutes. Sophia, my 5-year-old, asked if he was going to come back and play again.

"It happens all the time," I said. "He'll come back if the coach says he's safe to play."

"Why do they play if people keep getting hurt?" she asked.

Hockey is not the only activity that carries risk. When Sophia was a toddler, she tripped over everything within a 4-foot radius. Even with no formal education on the nuances of locomotion, she's now a skilled walker. So I wonder: Is the concept of weighing risks and rewards something we should bother teaching to our children, or should we trust they'll learn it on their own?

Everything we do has a risk of negative consequences. In sports, these run from concussions to plummeting self-esteem, but what about more mundane tasks? I've cut my fingers many times slicing vegetables. People get burned all the time while cooking. I want to be safe, yes, but I still have to eat.

Risk-taking comes naturally to many people, requiring no external guidance. Yet if you ask stockbrokers and base jumpers, they'll tell you risks can be substantially lessened with appropriate learning. So there is a gray area.

The growth we seek for our children occurs most pointedly when risks and rewards are more pronounced. Taking risks can lead to more confidence and can teach valuable lessons. We make these decisions daily and don't always succeed. The trick, therefore, is discovering how much risk we're comfortable accepting. And that can take help.

Ella, my 7-year-old, used to clutch the side of the pool, afraid that she couldn't swim. With practice, patience and gentle nudges from mom and dad, she gradually learned to be more confident. Now she jumps off the diving board. The reward finally outweighed the risk. Was it our help or her natural instincts that flipped the switch?

Not all things come so organically. A friend of mine recently applied for a new job. There were risks: salary discrepancy, more hours and uncertain office dynamics. And rewards: emotional fulfillment, chance to use his innate skill set and the probability of making a difference in his community. Five years ago, the same opportunity would have resulted in paralyzing fear, despite the possibility of great gains. What caused him to make the leap?

Assessing risks and rewards means accepting ourselves, whatever the outcome. The Navy SEALs who killed Osama bin Laden weren't concerned with the risks of their jobs; duty to peace-loving citizens everywhere was their first priority. While they were probably the same kids who thought nothing of sacrificing their bodies for thrills, they also might have been fearful children who were explicitly taught that rewards are greater when the risks are, too. Either way, we're thankful they learned.