This was the first communication that had come from her aunt in Jessie’s lifetime.

“I think your aunt has forgiven me at last,” her father said as he passed the letter across the table.

Jessie looked first at the autograph(签名). It seemed strange to see her own name there. There was a likeness between her aunt’s autograph and her own, a hint of the same decisiveness and precision. If Jessie had been educated fifty years earlier, she might have written her name in just that manner.

“You’re very like her in some ways,” her father said, as she still stared at the autograph.

“I should think you must almost have forgotten what Aunt Jessie was like, dear,” she said. “How many years is it since you last saw her?”

“More than forty,” her father said. “We disagreed. We invariably disagreed. Jessie always prided herself on being so modern. She read Darwin and things like that. Altogether beyond me, I admit.”

“And so it seems that she wants to see me.” Jessie straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. She was excited at the thought of meeting this mythical aunt whom she had so often heard about. Sometimes she had wondered if the personality of this remarkable relative had not been a figment(虚构) of her father’s imagination.

But this letter of hers that now lay on the breakfast table was admirable in character. There was something of intolerance expressed in its tone. It was just like what her father had told her.

Mr. Deane came out of his past memories with a sigh.

“Yes, yes; she wants to see you, my dear,” he said. “I’ve heard she has set up a school and helped many youngsters. I think you had better accept this invitation to stay with her. If she took a fancy to you, you could get a better education…”

He sighed again, and Jessie knew that for the hundredth time he was regretting his own past weakness...

It was New Year time, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. That winter, my mother and my stepfather moved our family to Southern California. My brother and I were leaving our rural Alabama behind. This would be our first New Year away from Alabama. My mother took to California like a swan to a royal lake. My athletic little brother, Paul, was thrilled at a climate that allowed him to go to the beach whenever he wanted.

I, however, was a fat child with heavy southern pronunciation. My first day in the new class, I introduced myself in a low voice. The instant I opened my mouth to speak, the whole class burst into laughter, “He talks funny.” It was so frustrating that I went to place a call to Granny Smith after school, who was my biggest support. But I didn’t get through.

On Sunday evening, the phone rang. It was Granny. She often took advantage of the discounted long-distance rates (长途电话费) on Sundays. She said she’d shipped a New Year package. Sure enough, it arrived. Surprised at the box, large enough to hold a small refrigerator, we eagerly tore it open. The smell of Granny’s house filled the room: a combination of fried meat, sausages, furniture polish and decorations. Her house was tiny and always filled with cheap holiday decorations and homemade food before New Year. But in my childhood eyes, it was precious and fantastic.

There were countless tins and containers. We open them to discover piles of holiday treats. She even included our traditional candy bats. The box was as bottomless as a magical box. There, beneath all these, was familiar holiday.

Every New Year that we spent in California, the postal service would call and say our package arrived. Over the years, many treasures arrived in the box. For me, it’s always been the best part of the holiday.

I can't stop thinking about the video of a 10-ycar-old girl facing her fears at the top of a ski jump. Her fear, her courage, her joy, her pride-the whole thing has really struck a chord (触动心弦) in me. Of course, the video makes me reflect on the times when I experienced the similar feelings. I remember how in those moments every cell in my body vibrated (颤动) with life. But it also reminded me of the times I didn't choose the more risky options.

I've always been a little bit of a chicken when it comes to my physical safety but I definitely pushed myself more when I was younger. Now that I'm a mom, I feel like I have to stay safe. I worry about what my kids would do without me and that leads me to make safe choices.

But as I watch this fourth grader overcome her fears, I think about how much this experience will mean to her in the future; she'll always have this as a reference point when she comes up against something scary or difficult. She'll be able to look back on this and say, “Well, I did that and the worst part was the bad feeling at the beginning.”

I know I want that view for my 8-year-old daughter and 5-year-old son. I know I want them to take risks. Maybe not every day, maybe not ski-jumping, definitely not extreme sports, but I deeply hope that they will push themselves to their limits, facing down fear with whatever tools they can use and enjoying the great rush that comes from attempting scary things and getting to the other side of them.

So if I want that for my kids, I have to honestly look at my own relationship with risk and say that yes... I play it safe. And I have to ask myself another question: Am I doing enough? Or do I need to make some changes in-my life so that my daughter and son can be inspired to make their own brave decisions?