(The following essay is by the young teenage daughter of a friend, posted with her permission and that of her parents. It's a sweet tale of challenge and friendship.)

Grander than the Canyon
by Nia

I giggle as I look upon my best friend. We have recently discovered that I have the unique ability to transmit my memories to another person. We have decided to test this theory today. Now my mind is racing as to which memory I should give her. I close my eyes, deep in thought. What should I give her? The first time I ice skated, my first crush, my first play? Suddenly it comes to me.

I smile at her; then I reclose my eyes summoning the memory. I am now back at the Grand Canyon, fall break of fifth grade. I look out onto the monstrous ridge. I can’t help but think that if I have to hike down there they might as well have an ambulance follow us the whole way. I look over towards my dad and he smiles reassuringly, and I know that he will support me every step of the way. He always did know what I was thinking. I had never been physically strong. What if I passed out? This was my first time out with the ‘big kids’ and I was afraid I would mess up. All my worries seemed to space out and suddenly I found myself marveling at the beauty of the enormous canyon. The deep colors made it seem like God had decided to paint a sunset on rocks so that man could enjoy it all day long.

I take a deep breath of the clean, crisp air of the national park and put my right foot in front of my left for my first step on my hike. Then another and another and another and… I look up at my dad, who is beaming at me, telling me he is glad I decided to come. I smile; I feel so grown up! But the beauty of the first ten minutes does not erase the fear of the last week, and yet I feel stronger than I have ever. I glance up into the clear, blue October sky and spot an eagle spreading its wings. My heart soars with it as it takes a turn. My heart is filled with joy and pride.

When I finally reach the mid-point for rest, my fears have been confirmed. I am exhausted to the point of almost breaking into tears. My muscles have been seizing up. My lungs are forced to take in twice as much air as they would have liked, and I’ve sweat enough to fill a swimming pool. Again I look up at my dad for support and I see the pride in his eyes that I have made it this far. I decide I have enough strength to move on. Again I find myself putting one foot in front of the other and fighting gravity to get to the top. When I finally reach the top, I look out onto the beautiful landscape and the pride in myself is unmeasureable and seemingly infinite. I did more than conquer the canyon; I conquered myself.

I open my eyes and put my hands on my friend’s shoulders, ready to give the memory. I see in her face the air has turned hot, her muscles seize up, and then relax, contracting again in nervous fear. When her eyes open, I see them shining with pride. I had given her a memory filled with my very essence. The hike was as my life: fear of pushing myself, then doing it because I knew no other way, realizing the beauty of life, and filling with joy realizing I had made both myself and my parents proud. Her eyes fill with tears, as do mine. I no longer have that memory. Just the essence of my father’s pride remains, but all I need to know is that by cause of that simple memory, my friend now understands me better than I ever thought she could.