"I Did It"

There’s a reason fathers tend to teach their children how to ride a bike. LM was nearly seven and long overdue for the lesson before I realized the task would be left up to me. He didn’t request the demonstration, he was more than content with training wheels. His riding was limited by the very short sidewalk in front of our apartment. But we were moving. To a real neighborhood. Where wheels would rule. I knew it was time he learned.

We walked the bike across the street and down a block to a small playground. The basketball court had a layer of little rubber pieces over the pavement that in my mind might make for a softer landing. I talked him through the process. I reminded him that falling was part of learning. I was there to help him on and to hold on until he was ready to go it alone. I was right.there.behind.him.

To say I was ill-prepared for the emotions that followed is an understatement. I didn’t realize how much I would hurt each time he fell. I didn’t realize how much strength it would take to let go of his bike when I knew it would fall again. I wasn’t ready for the tears that soaked my cheeks. But we kept at it and I became the cheerleader I never was. LM was a trooper. He stuck with it for several nights slowly getting the idea and gradually making progress. I remember saying over and over to him, “Jacob, when you get this, when you go all on your own on your bike, you will feel like you are flying!” and I knew he would feel that flight in the depths of his soul. And when, at long last, his bike found its way to the opposite corner of the court while I stood back and watched and cheered and cried, his face lit up like something I had never seen. I knew immediately what the expression was: Accomplishment.

A week ago, I rode on the back of the pontoon boat as my brother floated in the water explaining to LM how to get on the knee board and how it would feel when the boat pulled him. I worried and fretted as I watched that short little board wiggle under his weight and I was nervous that the first fall would end his desire to learn. It was really only the second try when he did it, and the boat cruised around the cove with LM smiling as wide as the lake. Sitting next to G’ma Judy, we both cried. I cried again a few days later when he did the whole process all by himself, without his uncle holding onto the board to get him started, having to pull himself up as the boat tugged him behind and to get the strap up over his knees while still holding the tow rope and balancing on the board. My tears are not for a sadness over a new-found independence. I don’t cry because he is growing up and growing away. I cry because so far, I haven’t messed it up. That allowing a village to raise our children makes them better people than we could raise alone. That a week ago, just like three summers ago, my son felt the pride of a new accomplishment. He did it. And I thank God that was there to witness.

I am reminded of what a crime it is to underestimate our children. I am so grateful to my brother for even thinking about teaching the kids about a knee board, something that would never have crossed my mind. And LM taught me, again, what it feels like to let go, little by little, as our children learn to fly with their own wings.

He will be gone for 8 weeks before I’ll see him again. I miss him more than I have words to describe. But I can close my eyes and hear him holler, “I did it!” under the sunshine on the lake and I know that I am doing the right thing. So far.

Comments

shayze said…
The story of him learning to ride a bike took me back to my father teaching me in Golden Gate Park. Closing my eyes, I am almost there again! Thanks!
jenny said…
My girl is in the process of learning and I find myself not nearly as patient as I was teaching the boy. I'm glad I stopped here...helped me see it in a new light.


Eight weeks? Oh my.
SlushTurtle said…
8 weeks is far too long! Hatchling is currently suffering from a bike infatuation (thanks a lot JoJo's Circus...). At not quite 2.5, my son doesn't understand why I won't get him a bike- nevermind that his feet can't even reach the pedals. I'm the meanest mommy ever!
Plantation said…
Great story. It certainly reminds me of Andy. I hope the 8 weeks flies by for you.

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