When Milo Got Mad—Really, Really Mad

Milo's tower fell. He'd been building it for an hour. Forty-seven blocks. Almost to the ceiling. And then his elbow bumped the table and the whole thing came crashing down. Something hot flooded his chest. His face burned. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw every single block at the wall. "I HATE THIS!" Milo yelled. He kicked the blocks. They scattered everywhere. His mom appeared in the doorway. She didn't yell back. She just watched. "I hate it," Milo said again, but quieter this time. His breath was shaky. "You're really mad," Mom said. Not a question. "YES." Milo's whole body was tight, like a spring wound too far. "That was a big tower. You worked hard on it." Milo felt his eyes sting. He wasn't sad. He was angry. But sometimes those felt the same. "I don't know what to do," he said. "I feel like I'm going to explode." Mom nodded. "Want to try something?" Milo didn't answer, but he didn't say no. "Come outside with me." They walked to the backyard. The air was cool. Milo was still breathing hard. "Find a tree," Mom said. "What?" "Any tree. Go stand by it." Milo walked to the big oak in the corner of the yard. He put his hand on the bark. It was rough and cold. "Now push," Mom said. "Push the tree?" "As hard as you can." Milo pushed. The tree didn't move, obviously. But something happened inside him. The hot feeling had somewhere to go. "Harder," Mom said. Milo pushed until his arms shook. He grunted. He growled a little. The tree just stood there, solid and still. After a minute, Milo stopped. He was breathing hard, but differently now. The tight spring in his chest had loosened. "The tree can take it," Mom said. "It's been standing here longer than our house. It's not going anywhere." Milo leaned his forehead against the bark. Cool. Rough. Real. "I'm still a little mad," he said. "That's okay. You don't have to make it all go away. You just have to let some of it out so you can think again." Milo took a breath. Then another. "Can I rebuild my tower?" "If you want to." He did want to. The idea didn't feel impossible anymore. They walked back inside. The blocks were still scattered on the floor. But Milo didn't feel like throwing them now. He picked one up. Then another. Forty-seven blocks. He could do it again.