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A Bridge Worth Crossing
We started our trek crossing the most rickety, terrifying, worn-out wooden bridge you could imagine…And it was the only way to get to the other side. We had to go one at a time, the bridge swung so much. The planks of wood were broken off in places, rusty loose nails warning us to tread carefully. Before I could think to stop him, my son Brady–being nine years old and full of zeal–began crossing. Heart pounding, I watched him. He finally reached the end of the bridge–but because my beloved kid was now on other side, I had to cross to be with him. No turning back.