Walking around the pond the other day, I saw off in the distance a little girl learning how to ride her bicycle without the training wheels. Two older ladies were supervising her. They had her in a grassy field, wearing a big helmet. I watched her ride for awhile in a straight line and then come to a stop. At this point she didn't know what to do so she simply fell over. It was pretty amusing. She was just riding along, came to a stop, and then didn't quite know to put out her legs. Instead she sat there with her feet on the pedals and tumbled down bike on top of her. She got up and went to one of the ladies who readjusted her helmet, while the other readjusted her handle bars that got bent from the fall. Then the new bike rider ran back to the bike to hop back on again. This was one very determined little girl.
When I learned how to ride without my training wheels, my parents took a different approach. First my Mom had nothing to do with it at all. This was a job for Dad. It was Dad's duty to teach his son how to ride properly. I never understood the timing, and tried in vain to explain this to him. It made no sense that early evening when he came up and said he needed me to get on my bike without the training wheels. As far as I was concerned, nothing was broken so nothing needed fixing. This seemed like a waste of time. There was no need to learn a new skill to replace an old skill that was serving me quite well. And his decision to choose that day seemed completely random. He could have chosen the day before, the day after, or any other day. Why he felt on that particular day I was ready I'll never know. But he did, and I obeyed and hopped up on that bike, all the while trying to explain to him that there was nothing wrong with my training wheels. A little bit of fright was probably in my protest, but I think mostly I just didn't want to be bothered right then and was looking for an excuse to get back to whatever it was I had been doing.
The grass was not an option. This was because riding in the grass leaves marks in the yard where the tires press down. That was a pivotal moment in my life. Since I was told those marks are ugly at that impressionable age, to this day I get annoyed when I see anyone riding their bike on the grass, and very annoyed if it happens to be some grass in a yard that I had just cut. Some young neighborhood children learned quickly their bikes stay off my family's lawn.
And I don't think helmets had been invented yet, because no one wore them. If you fell down you threw your hands out and took the gravel that shoved into your palms like a man, even if you were a girl. None of my friends or any of the other children in my neighborhood wore helmets. Now you rarely see anyone not wearing them. I suppose it's safer but it took me a long while to warm up to other people wearing them, and I still don't.
Dad's approach was to hold the back of the bike to steady me as I rode. I hadn't yet learned that the easiest way to balance yourself on a bike is to be moving and I pedaled very slowly. As I built up speed, Dad would let go, but still be claiming to be holding me.
After a little bit of this in the driveway, Dad took me out onto the street so we could go a longer distance. We didn't have sidewalks, but the street isn't ever very busy so it was still pretty safe. He had me ride to the end of the block to the cul-de-sac. I was doing good, but was still a little scared at riding alone without his steadying hand. See at this point in my life I still had that complete childlike trust in my parents that they would see no harm come to me. I grew up a lot that day. I kept asking if he was holding on. At one point he didn't respond and I looked back. He wasn't there! He was way off in the distance. Then, right as I turned my head forward again, BANG! One of my neighbors had a mailbox that had a long decorative swan head on it that extended outward into the street a little bit. This was the 80s and there is no accounting for the style back then. That vicious swan headbutted me and I was clobbered backwards off the bike and onto the street. I could hear my Dad laughing before I could see him. To his great disappointment he didn't have a camcorder because he could have made ten thousand dollars on 'America's Funniest Home Videos.' I was furious that he had let go, while still claiming that he had been holding on. I was so mad I got back on that bike and rode home in a fury to scream at Mom about what Dad had done. And of course he took no shame or had any remorse for what he had done. After all I did learn how to ride that bike.
When I learned how to ride without my training wheels, my parents took a different approach. First my Mom had nothing to do with it at all. This was a job for Dad. It was Dad's duty to teach his son how to ride properly. I never understood the timing, and tried in vain to explain this to him. It made no sense that early evening when he came up and said he needed me to get on my bike without the training wheels. As far as I was concerned, nothing was broken so nothing needed fixing. This seemed like a waste of time. There was no need to learn a new skill to replace an old skill that was serving me quite well. And his decision to choose that day seemed completely random. He could have chosen the day before, the day after, or any other day. Why he felt on that particular day I was ready I'll never know. But he did, and I obeyed and hopped up on that bike, all the while trying to explain to him that there was nothing wrong with my training wheels. A little bit of fright was probably in my protest, but I think mostly I just didn't want to be bothered right then and was looking for an excuse to get back to whatever it was I had been doing.
The grass was not an option. This was because riding in the grass leaves marks in the yard where the tires press down. That was a pivotal moment in my life. Since I was told those marks are ugly at that impressionable age, to this day I get annoyed when I see anyone riding their bike on the grass, and very annoyed if it happens to be some grass in a yard that I had just cut. Some young neighborhood children learned quickly their bikes stay off my family's lawn.
And I don't think helmets had been invented yet, because no one wore them. If you fell down you threw your hands out and took the gravel that shoved into your palms like a man, even if you were a girl. None of my friends or any of the other children in my neighborhood wore helmets. Now you rarely see anyone not wearing them. I suppose it's safer but it took me a long while to warm up to other people wearing them, and I still don't.
Dad's approach was to hold the back of the bike to steady me as I rode. I hadn't yet learned that the easiest way to balance yourself on a bike is to be moving and I pedaled very slowly. As I built up speed, Dad would let go, but still be claiming to be holding me.
After a little bit of this in the driveway, Dad took me out onto the street so we could go a longer distance. We didn't have sidewalks, but the street isn't ever very busy so it was still pretty safe. He had me ride to the end of the block to the cul-de-sac. I was doing good, but was still a little scared at riding alone without his steadying hand. See at this point in my life I still had that complete childlike trust in my parents that they would see no harm come to me. I grew up a lot that day. I kept asking if he was holding on. At one point he didn't respond and I looked back. He wasn't there! He was way off in the distance. Then, right as I turned my head forward again, BANG! One of my neighbors had a mailbox that had a long decorative swan head on it that extended outward into the street a little bit. This was the 80s and there is no accounting for the style back then. That vicious swan headbutted me and I was clobbered backwards off the bike and onto the street. I could hear my Dad laughing before I could see him. To his great disappointment he didn't have a camcorder because he could have made ten thousand dollars on 'America's Funniest Home Videos.' I was furious that he had let go, while still claiming that he had been holding on. I was so mad I got back on that bike and rode home in a fury to scream at Mom about what Dad had done. And of course he took no shame or had any remorse for what he had done. After all I did learn how to ride that bike.
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