55 Acts of Kindness (2)

 From Melissa and Dylan in Houston:

We left a little cash treat for Hilton hotel staff in Houston this morning

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From Rae somewhere in the Caribbean:

Hi there! On vacation in Caribbean! I gave an extra large tip to our bartender, David, tonight for my Act of Kindness! Had a minute to tell him about Steve and your great idea honoring him on his bday!! ❤️❤️

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From Conia in Franklin, Tenn.:

Venmo for a family who just lost their home to a fire.

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From Jasmine in Frisco:

Happy 55th heavenly birthday to Steve Damm!

DJ had his very first blood test at Quest in Prosper 8 am in the morning.

1. We gave a giftcard to the nurse who drew blood and he said "You made my day!" The guy before DJ's rushed into the nurse and his arm was covered by blood. He apologized to us and the nurse wiped out all the blood from his arm. DJ looked very nervous and we both looked away when the nurse was about to put the needle on DJ's right arm.

The nurse was laughing and said " you both look about to pass out"

DJ said it was not even hurt after all

I was so thankful for those nurses who work early Saturday morning and wanted to cheer him up since he had little blood situation minutes ago

2. On the way home I was craving coffee so we stopped by Targrt and I got my Starbucks coffee and the cashier was so kind and delightful and I gave her giftcard. Her big smile was priceless!

3. DJ wanted to eat Wendy's so we stopped by our Wendy's drivethrough by FM423 and gave giftcard to a lady with very kind smile

Very busy morning with full of happiness #dammkind

***

From Frank in Arlington:

While waiting at a red light late this afternoon, I got out of the car and gave $20 to a homeless man sitting in the median on Sublett Road at the intersection of U.S. 287 in southwest Arlington not far from our home. A bit later after getting an oil change, I drove past him again and decided to park at a nearby convenience store, walk over and talk with him.

I learned that Greg is 61 years old (a year younger than me) and recently lost his trailer home to fire. He's living in a tent and the main thing he needs is a phone to help him make calls to try to get a job and get back on his feet. I told Greg we can't really help him financially, but if he's able to get a phone, he can call me and I can give him rides or other help he might need. I could see the goodness in Greg's heart, because he instantly said he had wanted a way to reach me so he could repay me for my kindness, whether it was raking leaves or doing anything he could.

As we continued visiting, I gave Greg the last $10 in my wallet and told him that at the church I attend, The Welcome Table Christian Church just a few miles from that location, we have a Little Red Pantry outside that we keep stocked with food for those who need it. I also gave Greg a #dammkind card I'd printed so he would know the genesis of this act of kindness.

#dammkind is a campaign started by my friend and former newspaper colleague Tyra Damm some years ago after the passing at age 40 of her amazing husband Steve, whom I also knew through Tyra, from glioblastoma (brain cancer) in October 2009. Today, November 4, Steve would have turned 55. The campaign calls for folks to celebrate Steve's memory by performing an act of kindness each year on his birthday.

I know Steve, whose two remarkable children have grown up to be a college graduate and one who's a college freshman, is moved each year in heaven by the widespread outpouring of kindness. If you're able to spread the love in Steve's honor this weekend and would like to print and share this card with the person or people you help, that would be awesome. Thank you on behalf of the Damm family.

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From Kristy in Frisco:

Thank you Tyra for inspiring us to always be #dammkind. Sending love to your precious family this weekend, and a donation in Steve’s name to The Trevor Project.

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From Penny in Frisco:

In honor of Steve Damm, the late husband of our dear Tyra Damm, we celebrate #dammkind day today. Everyone in the family is finding ways to be kind today and we hope you do too.

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From Haley in Boeschepe, France:

Paid for 5 crepes to-be-ordered at our favorite parents/kids café. I love you, Damm family! Steve’s light shines so bright in this world.

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From Heather in Anna:

Thank you, Melane Crumb Woodbury, you are #dammkind!!!! Your kindness in picking up my favorite sweet treat in honor of your brother-in-law, Steve, inspires me to do the same. Thank you, friend.

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From Sarah of Winter Park, Colo.:

At my granddaughter's birthday today...at a large, b-day event space...she met a friend, whose name she doesnt know and who was not a part of her group of guests. She told me that the girl was kind....and played with her...and so my granddaughter wanted to give her a party favor, even though she wasn't officially part of the party and we didn't know her name. And so she did, give her the party favor, and said thank you for being kind. And so...anonymously, the #damnkind kindness takes another step forward. I watched it happen. And, I felt honored and proud to have known Steve, and to have seen a bit of his light passed along. Isnt that the power of the story? Moving beyond. Continuing a legacy. Grateful hearts all around.#dammkind

55 Acts of Kindness (1)

 From Aunt Ami and Uncle Rich, on the road:

Rich and I are on a road trip during Damm Kind for Steve this year. Last night we left a very generous tip on a bar tab for a sweet waitress,. When I told her about Steve, she was very emotional and thankful.

She caught up with us as we were heading out the door, with her husband in tow. She wanted to introduce him to us, as he is a cancer survivor. They are a struggling young family with two small children.

At our next stop for dinner, we left a generous tip for our waitress, a woman in her 50's who works two jobs.

***

From Gina in Plano:

We donated to Lovepacs of Plano to provide meals to students who need food assistance over the holidays. It’s a great program! Thanks for the opportunity to participate in 55 Acts of Kindness. Hope it’s a huge success again this year! #dammkind

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From Brandi in Frisco:

Up early ready to give the gift of reading in memory of Steve Damm #dammkind

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From Jana in Frisco:

For teachers at Wilkinson Middle School

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From Katrina in Frisco:

Happy Steve day!! 

We will make a donation to the North Texas Food Bank in honor of Steve. ❤️

And we will spread some random kindness around Frisco today.

***

From Julie in Karnes City:

(1) We donated venison (two cull bucks harvested from our ranch) to an agency that provides food to a homeless shelter.

(2) My husband and I ran a 5K today to raise awareness and money for diabetes. We’ve completed them through the em years for that cause, the Heart Association as well as cancer research.

***

From someone in North Texas:

Yesterday (11-3-23) was my husband's 54th Birthday and we celebrated it by dining at a new restaurant in Dallas called the Tricky Fish. A couple (who never met us before) anonymously Blessed him with a special treat inspired by Steve 's memory. We are so grateful and appreciative of that act of kindness and will display acts of kindness in Steve's memory as well!

***

From Judy in Frisco:

Put a loaf of sourdough and a book on my best friend’s porch this morning but forgot my note. Thinking of you Tyra Damm and what a wonderful man your Steve must have been.  

55 Acts of Kindness (early edition)

 Welcome! Big thanks to everyone celebrating what would have been Steve's 55th birthday on Nov. 4! If you'd like to join in, you can click here for a note to leave behind with your #DammKind act.

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From the Bapat family in Frisco:

Thank you for sharing this tradition with us ❤️ In honor of Steve, we will be donating 55 snack packs to Frisco Fastpacs for their meal kits.

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From Jill in Frisco:

I had fun putting hand soaps in several of the school bathrooms as an act of kindness this year! I love all you do to keep Steve's memory alive! 

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From Marvin in Frisco:

Last Sunday, a single parent came into the barbershop and asked how much it was to pay for a haircut for her two young boys. The boys looked to be 8 years old. The mom had a sense of urgency because the young boy had glue stuck in his hair. The barber informed her of the price, and she said she did not have it and would try to find it and come back next week. I went out and told the mom I would pay for the haircuts, and she cried.

***

From Kristen in Frisco:

I folded Tuttle's clean towels.

I created a click sheet for my K-12 art colleagues.

=) Thank you for inspiring so many people to show kindness to others! 

How my high-schooler is dealing with dyslexia, a year-round, nonstop kind of life

From Saturday's Briefing:

It’s impossible to miss Breast Cancer Awareness Month and its frenzy of pink. We are, apparently, also in the middle of International Walk to School Month, National Dental Hygiene Month, National Stamp Collecting Month and about 100 other various special interest celebrations.

October is also Dyslexia Awareness Month, though as anyone who lives with dyslexia can attest, you don’t need 31 days set aside to remember. It’s a year-round, nonstop kind of life that affects an estimated 10% of the population — and there is no cure.

I don’t have dyslexia myself, but as a classroom teacher and mom to two children with the learning disability, I often feel like I’m in the trenches.

Both of my children were diagnosed in elementary school, Cooper in the middle of fourth grade and Katie in the middle of third. Neither showed what I thought were obvious symptoms. They seemed to not only understand texts but could ask insightful questions, make inferences and explain their new learning. Both enjoyed reading, and honestly, there wasn’t much of a choice in our home. We devoted hours each week to board books and picture books, poetry and novels. Stacks of books punctuate every room of our home.

Yet there were struggles at school and with homework. We’d spend a frustrating number of hours studying for spelling tests, only for those words to fall out of their heads the next day. Copying words from the board or a worksheet was a painful experience. Details such commas and capitalization often went unnoticed.

Even after two years of daily intervention at school and many more years of developing coping skills and strategies, challenges remain — as expected. One has more difficulty than the other with written expression. One needs more time and repetition to process nonfiction.

Yet Cooper has incredible spatial awareness and the ability to construct and innovate. Katie thinks and speaks, writes and empathizes with the heart of a poet.

They both have to work harder than most of their peers, and despite extra hours of reading, thinking and studying, they rarely earn grades that reflect that additional effort.

They’re developing layers and layers of resiliency.

The transition this year for Katie from middle school to high school has been understandably tough for all the reasons that incoming ninth-graders toil. New building, different expectations and increasingly difficult classes. She learned quickly that her old study habits wouldn’t support her new coursework, and I was reminded that she needed extra help at home.

After some trial and error, she’s found a method that’s working for memorizing new vocabulary. She creates flashcards early in the unit and relies on repetition — reading the words and definitions to herself, reading them aloud, answering my questions at breakfast and dinner. Last-minute cramming isn’t an option.

Katie studied for hours for a single human geography vocabulary test. Demographic transition models, migration patterns, pro-natalist policies — she’s got them covered (and I’m not so bad at them myself). I wept and cheered when I received her text reporting her test score: 96.

I remind my children — my two Damm kids plus the 73 seventh-graders I teach this year — that everyone is carrying some kind of burden. Some challenges are obvious — complete with T-shirts, bumper stickers and rubber bracelets — but many are hidden. Our community is a better place when we offer grace and compassion to everyone, allowing room for named and unnamed struggles.

There’s nothing wrong with a month of awareness to teach the world about a hobby, condition or disease. Yet there is power in living each day with awareness and compassion for everyone and whatever weighs them down.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Hard-working Katie

While my son is off forging his own adventures at Auburn, we have a lot to celebrate here in Texas

From Saturday's Briefing:

Daily life is quieter at the Damm house. As the wise philosopher and meerkat Timon sings in The Lion King, "Our trio's down to two."

Cooper left for Auburn University in early August, and while he is adjusting to sharing a dorm room, doing his own laundry, rustling up some grub, navigating college coursework, making new friends — basically launching a new life — little sister Katie and I are adjusting to life without him.

That means fewer loads of laundry and fewer groceries to buy. There are fewer moments that I need to knock on his door and holler, "It's time to get up!" followed 10 minutes later by, "Seriously. Get up now!"

His absence means that we're solely responsible for taking out the trash and remembering to place the bins at the end of the driveway on Tuesday nights for early Wednesday morning pickup. We're down to one driver in the house — and one adult who can pick up the dry cleaning or make a late-night run for emergency ice cream.

I do get unsolicited text messages ("What's the Amazon code?" and "Thanks for sending the snacks!" and "Can my khaki pants go in the washing machine?"). We talk on the phone at least once a week.

But we're missing his daily running commentary on classes, peer antics, current events and music. I miss Saturday morning cross country meets. I miss his "Love you," said every single time I left the house or he left the house or one of us went to bed.

I find solace in the joy I hear in his voice when discussing engaging classes, stories from his civil rights book club and his project work with Engineers Without Borders. He's made friends. He attends home football games and socials. He works out at the rec center. He has plans for an Appalachian Trail hiking and camping adventure.

He says that his tough high school coursework prepared him for freshman year (a relief, especially now that Katie is in the throes of that work now). He seems to be — as far as I know — going to class, studying and turning in projects.

He has found his home at Auburn.

As Katie and I adjust to our new normal (and count the days until Thanksgiving break), I'm reminded that her time here at home is fleeting. When Cooper comes home for Christmas break, she'll be halfway through ninth grade. Experience tells me her high school years will fly by.

The passage of time isn't lost on my 14-year-old, either. To celebrate the first day of autumn, she created a fall 2019 bucket list, with an ambitious number of activities — 29 to be exact — to complete before winter dawns.

Her illustrated list includes reading books on a rainy day, volunteering at our church pumpkin patch, eating candy corn, taking a hayride, enjoying a Harry Potter movie marathon and walking through a haunted house. (I'm hoping to outsource that last item. Or maybe just sit in the car.)

Katie's list symbolizes more than an affinity for fall. It's a reminder that while Cooper is off forging his own adventures, we've got a lot to celebrate here in Texas. We can exist in the dichotomy of missing him and creating our own memories at the same time.

So while Cooper is cheering for the Tigers and shouting "War Eagle!" at Jordan-Hare Stadium, Katie and I will be looking for a corn maze, sipping apple cider and burning fall candles. And I'll be counting the days until his plane lands in Dallas.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Katie's fall 2019 list

I'm thankful my high school years weren't my best years

From Saturday's Briefing:

I have just celebrated 30 years since graduating high school with a reunion at a suburban country club, including a pasta buffet, a DJ serving up '80s tunes and a roomful of people I either remember well or have no recollection of ever seeing once in my entire life.

I left feeling not nostalgic but thankful. Thankful for enduring friendships, fond memories, shared experiences and, most of all, thankful that my high school years weren't my best years. If I could whisper in the ear of 1989 me, I would share, "The best is yet to come."

My generation lacks a singular defining moment. We were mercifully spared the Great Depression and World War II. We were too young for the draft or Woodstock.

We recall gas shortages, hostage crises and the malaise of the 1970s. We remember the flash and excess — and the parachute pants and shoulder pads — of the 1980s. We witnessed the crumbling of the Soviet Union in the early '90s and the dot-com boom and bust during the rest of that decade. We watched pension plans decline and mostly disappear.

We were in the middle of starting families on Sept. 11, 2001. We've been raising our children in a post-9/11 world, seeking balance between sheltering and preparing our kids for an uncertain future.

My generation has learned to adapt to technological changes — some forced upon us and later others of our own design. We grew up with phones attached to walls and televisions that required antennae and someone willing to turn a knob to change the channel. We embraced cable TV, video game consoles and the social-life salvation of call waiting.

I first used an Apple Macintosh SE computer in yearbook in 11th grade, creating pages on a wee screen not much bigger and far less powerful than my current iPhone.

No one I knew owned a mobile phone in college.

I wore a company pager in the late '90s.

I can identify a floppy disk, know how to change the thermal paper on a fax machine, and understand the importance of rewinding VCR tapes — though none of that matters anymore.

I've embraced social media, online shopping, the cloud, countless new applications for work and artificial intelligence (Alexa and I banter every day).

And yet, in a sure sign that I am aging, I'm finding that I have limits.

I have no interest in curating a list of YouTubers to follow. I'm happy to access YouTube for the occasional how-to video (thank you, sink disposal repair geniuses!), but it's never been my go-to entertainment venue.

While I have the Snapchat app, I rarely use it and am perplexed by teenagers who keep up daily streaks by sending photographs of their forehead or a car dashboard or ceiling tiles.

I find myself irritated when my son says he "talked" to someone when in fact he used his phone to send typed messages back and forth. "Talking" requires the exchange of spoken words.

I keep thinking that I understand the definition of a meme, but my daughter tells me I'm wrong. The exact characterization of a VSCO girl eludes me, though I gather that the current version includes puka shell choker necklaces, slip-on Vans and scrunchies (you know, the oversized ponytail holders we wore in '80s). I'm just now catching up to the idea of an eBoy, though I can't be sure that I've seen one in the wild.

I don't need to adopt these trends of Generation Z, and I don't begrudge them their fads, even the ones that will make them cringe when they look back in a couple of decades. I look forward to how they'll change the world, and I hope that they, too, keep seeking their glory days and the promise that the best is yet to come.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

A few promises to my daughter as she heads off to high school

From Saturday's Briefing:

Dear child on the eve of high school,

You've been an old soul since the day you were born, so I should be totally prepared for this milestone. Yet I can still see you on your first day of kindergarten, hand on your hip, braid in your hair, sassy smile on your lips.

Every year since, you and your brother have endured my photo traditions. Katie in front of the door. Cooper in front of the door. Katie on the steps. Cooper on the steps. Katie and Cooper on the steps together.

This year's routine is unlike any other. When you stand on the front porch tomorrow morning, you'll pose for photos by yourself. Though you will always be the little sister, you're now the only child at home.

For better and worse, your big brother has paved the way. Everything we know about your high school, we know because of Cooper. Pretty much everything your high school knows about the Damms, they know because of Cooper.

You've had a front-row seat to late-night study sessions and report card conversations. You've already visited college campuses across the country. You've waited for acceptance letters to arrive. You've unpacked boxes in a tiny dorm room.

Cooper was my trial-and-error teenager, and you'll reap the rewards of — or bear the brunt of — my parenting education.

You still have a long journey ahead, though you and I both know how quickly those four years will pass. As you continue your own path, I have a few promises to share.

I will not compare you to others.

Your worth is not defined by your class rank. You might apply to universities that want to know how many students have higher grades than you, but that number — or any other number — will never change my love for you. I want you to compare yourself to only yourself. I want you to recognize your own progress and value that growth above any metrics or peer or sibling.

I expect you to give full effort.

You have big dreams that include law school and a career in civil rights. I will support you 100% as you work toward this goal, making sacrifices in our schedule and resources to help you get there. I expect the same devotion from you. I hope that you'll take advantage of the opportunities afforded by our suburban school district. I want you to check your work and meet deadlines, admit your mistakes and try to learn from them.

I will ask questions. 

How was your day? How are you feeling? How will you solve that problem? How can I help? Where are you going? Who will be there? Will parents be home? Will there be drugs or alcohol? I ask because you're important and because I want you to be safe. I ask because your answers matter and because they'll lead to conversations that will help me understand you better and help you make healthy decisions.

I will be your biggest fan. 

You have overcome huge obstacles in your young life. You have endured your daddy's illness and death, developing deep empathy for others in crisis. You have learned to cope with dyslexia, devouring hundreds of books along the way. You work hard to conquer fear. You create art and poetry that warms the soul. You serve with an open heart. I will root for you even on — especially on — your roughest days.

I won't wish away a single day.

There are 708 school days remaining until you graduate. You might struggle to get out of bed some mornings. We will disagree on clothes and curfews. We will say words that we regret. More often, though, you will wake up like sunshine, and we'll compromise, and we'll take care to speak with kindness. Either way, I'll give thanks for another day with you and your wise, old soul.

Love, Momma

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Kindergarten Katie and freshman Katie

Loosen up, take a chance and go cliff-jumping (just remember to take off your watch)

From Saturday's Briefing:

My role as a risk-averse mom places me in a tough position when our family is forging adventure.

On the one hand, I want to expose my children to opportunities to explore life and new experiences. I want them to embrace challenges and overcome fear. On the other hand, I want to envelop them in bubble wrap.

We dashed to Beavers Bend State Park in southeastern Oklahoma last weekend for one last hurrah before Cooper starts college and Katie starts high school. We're no strangers to the Mountain Fork River, all of us veterans of kayaking and tubing on that scenic water. But we've never ventured onto Broken Bow Lake.

On this visit, I embraced the challenge. We rented a small pontoon boat for four hours. Cooper and his friend took charge of steering, and we puttered across the water to reach Cooper's dream destination — 20-foot cliffs ideal for leaping if you're so inclined.

I stayed back while the kids swam ashore and starting scaling the rocks. Waves and wind pushed me toward the cliffs, and I, for the first time ever, at the age of 47, commandeered a boat.

I took photos of the jumping teens from a safe distance, holding my breath every single time. I offered encouragement to Katie and her friend, who really wanted to jump but were also slightly terrified. "Jump if you want! But you don't have to!" There's a fine line between supportive and pushy.

After watching these courageous kids leap into the water, and after feeling renewed confidence from my just-discovered boat-driving skills, I decided to fight my fears and try to jump myself.

Cooper swam to the boat and regained control of the steering wheel. I set my glasses aside. I swam to shore. I climbed rocks on shaky legs, with Katie offering encouragement.

I found a jumping-off spot and inched out. I waited for my breath to settle and legs to steady. I waved to the tiny people below. I took Katie's advice and looked out, not down. (Without those glasses, the hills and trees were amorphous blobs.) I briefly regretted not leaving my watch on the boat, considered taking it off and then declined, not wanting to abandon it on the cliff.

I listened to my teenagers cheer me on, took deep breaths and contemplated walking back down to safety.

Eventually, I counted — 3, 2, 1 — then pushed myself off the ledge and let gravity take control. 

I hit the water shoes-first, became fully submerged then popped back up. Before I could celebrate this unexpected bravery, though, I realized that my watch was missing.

The watch was a gift last school year from many of my students. It's the kind of item I would never ask for or buy for myself — and certainly not something I would want to lose.

I should have left it on the boat.

While I had been waffling up there on the cliff, Cooper and his friend were chatting with a couple of guys in an idling boat. They live not far from the lake, and on days off from work they often dive for treasure at the cliffs. They had just put on their SCUBA gear when the watch fell off my arm.

These gentlemen dove in and explored the depths of the lake. About 30 feet under, they discovered a couple pair of sunglasses and my treasured watch. I swam back to the rocks and thanked them for their good timing and skill.

My cliff-jumping career ended as quickly as it began. One hop was all I needed, delivering more excitement than I bargained for — including a serendipitous reminder of the kindness of strangers. I won't stop seeking adventure, though, and I'll keep cheering for my courageous children. Life is more interesting when you take leaps of faith.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Cooper leaps from a cliff at Broken Bow Lake.

I'm thankful for a weeklong vacation that wasn't really a vacation at all

From Saturday's Briefing (and will be in Thursday's Dallas Morning News):

My week away this summer was atypical. Yes, I packed my bags, boarded the dog, left town and returned exhausted. Instead of sightseeing and sampling local fare, though, I worked 18-hour days while grocery shopping and cooking for 120 people.

I can't wait to do it again next year.

Teens and adults from four Texas churches descended on Granbury last week. A local church opened its doors, allowing us to eat, sleep, worship and play there. The campus served as home base for work teams that spread out to help rehab homes, build wheelchair ramps, replace roofs, spiffy up community centers and clear piles of debris.

I'm not confident with power tools, but I do know how to follow a recipe, so I signed on to support the kitchen team. Our job was to make sure that volunteers were well nourished for their important work in the field. We four Frisco women planned, shopped, chopped, sautéed, boiled, baked and served three meals a day.

We burned our hands, spilled an entire tray of macaroni and cheese, (accidentally) squished a tiny toad that hopped into our path, boiled over a batch of tea and started a tiny grease fire.

Those mishaps were inconsequential compared to the sleepy smiles at breakfast each morning and the profusive "thank you so much" dinner compliments from folks who'd just worked long hours in typical July conditions and couldn't wait to dig in to tacos or cold watermelon slices or piles of pasta and meatballs.

Dinnertime was the best time to catch up on project progress and hear about clients.

One gentleman had been confined to his home after suffering a stroke. His house is elevated because of its proximity to the river, and getting in and out in a wheelchair had been impossible — until a group of volunteers constructed a ramp for him.

Another resident was living with a hole in the floor that revealed the earth below. His back wall was so unstable it could be pushed out about 6 inches. A crew installed new flooring and reinforced the wall.

There were rotted fences and ramshackle roofs. There were jungles to tame and wasp nests to contain.

Volunteers didn't only perform manual labor, though. They worked on building relationships — with one another and with their homeowners. Volunteers invited clients to join their group for lunch each day, and clients in turn often invited volunteers into their homes. Everyone was in service together — the people who need a little help and the people in a position to offer it.

When the week began, I considered the sacrifices I was making. I sacrificed my usual sleep routine, getting at most five hours a night. I sacrificed comfort, sleeping on an air mattress in a nursery room. I sacrificed control, keeping a schedule that was dependent on the needs of others.

As Tuesday turned to Wednesday and then Thursday dawned, I thought less of the sacrifices and more about my advantages. My temporary living conditions were warm, dry and safe. I would return to my own home soon enough, where accessibility and security are no concern.

When the week ended, I gave thanks for all that I had gained. New friendships, new memories, new perspectives.

I am thankful for teens who give up cellphones for a week, work in hot and humid conditions without complaint, initiate conversations with strangers who become friends. I am thankful for adults who guide them through difficult tasks. I am thankful for neighbors in Granbury who trust strangers with power tools, offer genuine hospitality, share their stories.

I am thankful for a week that wasn't really a vacation but was refreshing nevertheless and a week of insignificant sacrifices that fuels a year of gratitude.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

On Friday, Cooper's team helped to install basketball goals at a Granbury community center.

Summer is the perfect time to loosen the reins and give kids more freedom

From Saturday's Briefing:

About 50 adults squeezed into a conference room for advice on sending our children to college. I was expecting revolutionary ideas that hadn't yet been revealed on this parenting journey, tips that are reserved only for the moms and dads of 18-year-olds.

In fact, I heard variations of the exact words I tell my new middle-school parents at the beginning of each academic year.

Let your child make mistakes and learn from them. Encourage your child to advocate for herself. Insist that your child solve his own problems.

If teachers are asking parents to do this with 11-year-olds, why do colleges need to do the same with parents of young adults? Because it's not easy.

Though I try not to be a helicopter mom (constantly hovering and swooping) or a lawnmower mom (eliminating obstacles on behalf of my children), I'm also not a permissive parent (yes to everything!) or a free-range parent (good luck out there, little one!). Actually, I'm guilty of — and sometimes even proud of — a few characteristics of all those styles.

Summer offers excellent conditions for testing new parenting techniques. Lazier days with fewer commitments mean more freedom. My Katie and Adam, our neighbor and honorary third sibling, spend hours each week outside. As they've grown older, they've started living a little more like 1970s children — running into one house or the other for water or supplies but otherwise playing outside until dusk beckons or a parent hollers, "Dinner!"

It's the way I grew up. When I was 4, 5 and 6, I was part of a gentle gang of North Dallas kids who would gather in the middle of the street, discuss possible adventures and then set out. We'd climb trees, explore trails and fish crawdads out of Joe's Creek — all without a single supervising adult.

A few years later, my sister and I would roam the streets of tiny Belton, Texas. We'd walk a couple of blocks south to spend 27 cents on a small Slurpee or, if we had saved our money for a few days, $1.07 to buy a drumstick and biscuit from Golden Fried Chicken. Or we'd wander farther north to peruse the aisles of TG&Y and the Hallmark store. There were pay phones if we needed them, but no one expected us to check in.

All of that freedom created natural opportunities for building consensus, solving problems, settling disputes and figuring out basic first aid.

Yet we 21st-century parents are often paralyzed by fear. What if someone makes a bad decision? Gets their feelings hurt? Feels left out? Gets lost? Gets injured?

When is it appropriate to let go and allow your child to experience the inevitable disappointments — and inherent lessons — of life?

Earlier this summer, Katie rushed into the house, seeking duct tape and bungee cord. She dragged our rusty red wagon from the front porch to the alley. I was suspicious. She told me not to worry.

I, no doubt, worried.

Upon further investigation, I discovered that she and Adam had used the tape and cord to attach the wagon to the back of his bike. She would sit in the wagon while he pedaled. As he turned, she also turned, but without control or grace.

I held my breath and closed my eyes as they careened through the alley. She tumbled out a couple of times. I eventually insisted that they stop.

Her left leg still shows scars from the concrete, and I can't get the image out of my head, but it's one of their favorite memories of summer so far.

I try every day to make the right decisions for my kids — or, better, to let them make their own. I'm working on not rescuing Cooper in the mornings, when he sleeps through his alarm but needs to get dressed for work. (I'm mostly failing.) I've encouraged them both to cook more often and experiment in the kitchen. (Katie's a pro with the toaster oven and George Foreman Grill, and Cooper can bake some tasty chicken.) I don't swoop in to finish their chores. (Even if that means the sink fills with dishes. I take lots of deep breaths.)

When school starts this August, I'll once again advise my students' parents to step back as often as they're comfortable — while trying to trust my own two kids to rely on the foundation we've built together.

Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Bike. Wagon. Duct tape. Bungee cord. What could go wrong?