What Brave Looks Like
I just finished a book that arrived on my doorstep today, courtesy of Amazon—Brave by Shelby Smith.
Brave by Shelby Smith https://a.co/d/5tqXFLi
It’s a heartfelt reflection on what it truly means to be brave. Shelby, an early childhood educator, reminds us that bravery comes in many forms. It might look like a preschooler stepping through the classroom door for the first time, trying scissors, sharing their favorite color, or facing the unimaginable—medical challenges, hospital stays, and tough diagnoses—with quiet courage.
She beautifully affirms that every child carries bravery within—and with love and compassion, that bravery can grow.
One of the most powerful parts of the book is her perspective on risky play. Instead of always saying “be careful,” Shelby encourages letting children engage with challenges. This helps them build safety awareness, flexible thinking, and confidence in their own abilities. It’s a reminder that risk isn’t the same as danger—and that meaningful growth often lives right at the edge of what feels a little uncertain.
That message hit close to home.
I’ve been working with Kidstar (KDSTR Radio Corporation, a 30-year-old nonprofit started by Perry Damone—Google him, it’s a fascinating story) for over 15 years. What Mrs. Smith describes resonates so deeply with what Perry used to teach, it gave me goosebumps. At Kidstar, we built radio stations in underserved middle schools, reservation schools, and even juvenile detention centers. Now, working with people with disabilities. And we had one golden rule: the kids do it all. We invite them to take risks. Because we believe risk was where the learning happens.
A few stories come to mind:
One student—we’ll call her Liz—was doing a radio segment on what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her parents were pushing her toward nursing or teaching. She gave it a shot, interviewing nurses at a clinic… until she fainted at the sight of blood. That path was clearly out. She pivoted to teachers, her high school teachers, then took a risk and interviewed someone far outside her norm: a design instructor. That changed everything. She went on to apply for and receive a full-ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious shoe design schools in Milan, Italy.
Then there was Jake. In middle school, he already had a criminal record and a tough exterior. But for reasons we didn’t fully understand, he started interviewing police officers and first responders—then military personnel. One day, two Marines showed up in full dress uniform for an interview. No one in the school knew they were coming. You could hear a pin drop in the studio. Jake had arranged it himself. That moment flipped a switch. He went from the bottom of his class to valedictorian. His juvenile record was expunged at 18. He became a career Marine.
Then there was Brian.
At 14, Brian was a car nut. He knew everything there was to know about cars—engines, trims, models, specs. For his project, he went to local dealerships and interviewed anyone who’d talk to him: mechanics, managers, parts guys, sales guys. One day, after a full afternoon of interviews, it was time to head home—but Brian was nowhere to be found.
Moments later, a mint-condition, fully loaded Mustang came screeching—okay, arriving rather aggressively—to a stop right in front of the showroom doors. Out stepped 14-year-old Brian from the driver’s seat, and a slightly disheveled salesman from the passenger side.
How he talked himself into that ride, I will never know. But I wasn’t even mad—almost impressed. That’s brave too. As close to danger as you can get. (Luckily his father was there and witnessed the whole thing.) For Brian, that was risk. For the salesman too.
These kids were brave. And it wasn’t loud or flashy. It was the kind of brave Shelby writes about—the kind that steps forward in the face of the unknown. The kind that says: “I don’t know if I can do this, but I’m willing to try.”
Risk, when offered with support, compassion, and trust, can become a launchpad. That’s the kind of bravery we need to keep cultivating, in our preschoolers, in our middle schoolers and that’s what I strive for as I work with my differently abled crew.
And as Shelby says, it might not look the same for every child—or every adult. But it’s there.
Waiting to be discovered.
This is Nomad Santa, reminding you: In this small world, we’re all neighbors. Be Brave!