Learning to ride
Maybe it was the weather, or the smell in the air, or the fact that I’d consumed the exact right amount of caffeine, but I declared that fateful Saturday morning the day we were removing our 6-year-old’s training wheels. It would be the day she would learn to ride a bike.
Within minutes, my hubby had removed the trainers, and our trainee sat proudly in her oversized helmet, ready and raring to go. Soon I was loping behind her, holding the bike erect as she giggled wildly and glided along.
It wasn’t until my husband shouted ,“Keep pedaling!” that I realized I was the one actually moving the bike. She immediately looked down to watch her little legs in their rotation. “Watch where you’re headed! Look up, honey! IN FRONT OF YOU!” I gasped, running along, still holding onto the bike.
Maybe it was the weather, or the smell in the air, or the fact that I’d consumed the exact right amount of caffeine, but suddenly it just seemed right. It was time. I let go.
Let it be said that letting go is something that is never easy for a parent to do. But we all face it, at some time or other, and if we don’t get the moment right, we end up with a 40-year-old living in our basement, playing video games.
At first she had no idea she was riding solo, as I kept up beside her. “You’re doing it! All by yourself—you’re doing it!” Realization dawned on her little face and she squealed with glee. She wobbled, she veered, she pedaled, and she went on, and on, and kept on keeping on. Swerving, looping, weaving—but all by herself.
Whoops and cheers came from the front lawn as our enormous family egged her on. It was an amazing and awesome thing to see, watching her become aware that she alone was responsible for her movement.That she could do things, if she really tried, things that seemed hard– and she could do them all by herself.
The following weekend we went on what would be her maiden voyage, an actual ride to the park. Again I got her started, running beside her and releasing my grip– and she wobbled, and veered, and looped, and we slowly made our way.
She had amazing intensity of focus and determination of spirit as she rode from one side of the path and instantly into the dirt; hopping back on, and with a little help, getting started again—only to race into a bush on the other side of the trail. Zig-zagging back and forth, she eventually gained control—and confidence—and found the ability to ride on the path….
…and despite our warnings still managed to ride directly into a fence. We helped her up, got her back on track, and she rode on.
Her little journey was clearly a metaphor for life itself. We parents train our growing daughter, teaching her the best way we know how for her to make her way in the world. Keep pedaling. Keep looking forward. Watch where you’re headed. And eventually our little girl will be off and on her own—perhaps a little wobbly at first, but eventually, hopefully, with confidence and clarity of purpose. And we’ll always be there to help her stay the course– or get back on track, as needed.
We will still be needed, right?…
…Bah. Forget all that– the metaphor can wait. I’m happy to stick with the literal success of her bike ride.
