I expected our son to fail, at least at first. It’s in the script, right? Like a sparrow spreading its wings for the first time, there is a protocol for these things and I knew my part. So on May Day this year, as pink cherry blossoms fell on the driveway in front of our Vancouver condo, I invited our four-year-old son Jonah onstage and prepared myself for the seven-step process, as I read it. anyway:
1) Expect fear. Riding a bike without training wheels is a leap in a child’s development. It can give you goosebumps, so be nice, be patient, remember your first time. Give the “If-I-can-do-it-you-can-too” pep talk as you remove the extra wheels from the bike.
2) Take the bike, bandages and child outside to a level path, park or schoolyard. In the meantime, keep up the parental sound bites and back pats. More than anything, your child needs encouragement and reassurance.
3) Put your child on the bike seat. While holding on to the back of the seat, invite him to place his feet on the pedals and balance. Breathe deeply, center yourself, use positive visualization (you do these things; It’s also a big step for you.)
4) Start your engines! Hold onto the seat and run alongside your child while pedaling until:
a) Your son is ready to fly alone.
b) You run out of gas due to your propensity for lattes with whipped cream.
5) Rescue your son. Assuming you don’t fall for profile 4b), run over to your daredevil, who is probably whimpering in a mess of wheels, limbs, and tears.
6) Console, nurse, tell your son about the first flight attempts of the Wright brothers. Whatever it takes, get him back on the bike. I pulled the words “I can do it” from his trembling lips.
7) Repeat steps 3-6 as needed, until self-confidence overcomes your child’s shaky world, and their newfound freedom carries them off into the horizon, never to return (actually, that’s later when I give you the car keys). for the first time).
8) Skip steps 1-7 if your child says they don’t need your help.
Wow, where does the number 8 come from? I wish I had read it, because when Jonah said get the hell out dad I can handle it (in so many words) I felt like I was the one being pushed out of the nest.
Jonah would have none of these The seven habits of highly successful two-wheelers. In fact, from the beginning, he was determined to pedal into this new phase of life on his own terms.
“Don’t be afraid,” I told her, stroking her ladybug helmet. “You’ll be fine. You can fall, but-“
“I’m not scared, Dad. I’m ready,” he said, as the wrench slipped off the nut and cut the pad of my thumb. I popped the damn mess into my mouth and chuckled at Jonah’s conceit. We’ll see, I thought, imagining myself, at the age five no less, lying on the sidewalk, tangled up in my bike, picking gravel out of the palms of my hands.
Well, the Wright brothers’ speech was saved for another day, because Jonah had A’s. After a year and a half of spinning his training wheels along the boardwalk that runs along False Creek, he was done.
I wish I could say the same about your father. Before he had focused me on my deep breathing and positive visualizations, Jonah climbed into the chair, as sure as the wind blowing off English Bay.
“Wait a minute champ,” I said, grabbing the seat. “Things are going to be a little shaky. Let’s balance out -“
“let me go daddy”
“Jonah, it’s not as easy as -“
“Let go!”
So, I let it go. But I held on to my expectations. I fully anticipated step 5. I reached for the bandages when I should have reached for the video camera.
Jonah stepped on the top pedal like James Dean stepping on the accelerator in Rebel without a cause He went away. Here was no sliver of the inept block. Sure, he sobbed, he wobbled, but, unlike his father, he didn’t fall. He was not afraid, nor was he sweating, but he was very proud. He orchestrated a smooth turn through a flower bank and pedaled toward me with a grin as wide as his handlebars. It was then that I realized that he still had a role to play.
I raised my arms and clenched my fists.
“Good job, Jonas!” He said: “You did it, and all by yourself.”
Jonas smiled. He couldn’t stop laughing. He bounced off his saddle like a jockey riding Sea Biscuit down the stretch. After the required victory laps along the way (me behind, announcing to all passersby, “That’s my son – first try”), I invited Jonah inside to celebrate.
“Cake!” he said.
“Sounds great,” I said.
“With whipped cream.”
“Sure, why not,” I laughed, packing the training wheels into a Safeway bag. It will be a while, if ever, until the next little cyclist-in-training needs my help. But I’ll be ready this time, ready for anything.