The first day of kindergarten should’ve felt magical. For everyone else, it did. But while they laughed and raced around the playground, my eyes were locked on one strange, scary thing—the monkey bars.

“Nidhi! What are you looking at?” a voice boomed. My mother had come to drop me off in my first-ever actual classroom and noticed me staring instead of lining up in front of my classroom wall. I had already made friends, but I wasn’t interested in what they were playing that day. I was more curious about what this bravado in front of me was! I heard the noise of footsteps as my mom scurried over. “Oh! This is what you are staring at—monkey bars! Here, let me teach you how to swing from one bar to another. Remember that you won’t learn them in one day. Try, fail, try, fail, until you get it.”

I was excited! I was going to be in the air swinging like a monkey, enjoying my time for myself. I climbed to the step where I could reach the bars, grabbed one in both hands as instructed, and reluctantly let my feet off the sides. My mom steadied me from below, her hands firm on my legs because I was twisting and turning. I was scared to fall! “Don’t even glance down a little bit!” my mom urged. “Get me down!” I shrieked, eyes shut tight. I felt myself being lowered to the ground.

I wasn’t done, though; I had to get from one side to another. But as my mom said, “It won’t happen in one day, or even five minutes. You have to practice. Try, fail, try, fail, until you get it.” Slowly, I got the hang of being in the air without falling. The next step was to move from bar to bar without falling. With my mom’s help, I made one extra move every day. When my mom was there in the morning before the bell, I would practice with her holding my legs together.

The next day, my mom told me to try by myself. Suddenly, I stopped—and so did the world. Scared from the beginning, I strolled to the monkey bars, murmuring under my breath, “You can do this, Nidhi. You can do this, Nidhi.” I was doubting that I could do it myself, but I had to give it a try. If I didn’t, I would never be able to play without my mom’s help. Hence, I decided to give it a shot.

I gripped the bars in my small hands, breathing nervously. I let go of my feet and got to work. Lunging myself forward, I grabbed onto the next black bar. When I pushed again to grab the fifth one, I missed it. I was hanging with one hand on the bars. I felt my right hand starting to sweat. Slowly, my hand slid off the bar—and that was it. “AAAAAH!” I yelled as I fell.

When I opened my eyes after the great fall, I saw bright red paint dripping down my knee. Wait… was that paint or… or… blood? I poked it, tears streaming down my cheeks. I was confident that it was blood. My mom, always ready for the craziest things, pulled a bandage out of her pocket. “Monkey bars are just not for me,” I wailed between sniffles. “Says who? You did great! I always say, try, fail, try, fail, until you get it,” my mom replied.

To be honest, that’s what I did. I got up, wiped my tears, and went through the whole process all over again. That time, I did it! I dropped to the ground—landing on my feet this time—beaming with joy. That day, I learned something important—if you keep trying, even when it’s hard or scary, you can do it. I didn’t just learn to swing on the monkey bars; I learned how to be brave. Now, whenever something feels tough, I remember my mom’s words: “Try, fail, try, fail, until you get it.”