Let's Ride a Bike

When I was 18 years old, I taught a friend how to ride a bicycle.  He was 19 and had not learned earlier because his mother was afraid he'd be injured riding.  So she kept the family in their apartment across from a schoolyard his entire childhood.  That way, he'd always have a place to play nearby and have no need to learn. But then our gang started playing tennis - at courts that were two miles from our homes. Mark had a choice of a forty minute walk or a bus ride to join us at tennis.  It was a pain for him.  So he decided to finally learn to ride a bike - and I got to teach him.  I wasn't sure how it would go.  I wasn't sure that I'd be able to teach him, or how long it would take.  To my pleasure, it was easy and didn't take more than a half hour.

I taught my first daughter to ride at age nine.  She wanted to learn because lots of kids on our block were riding every day and she wanted to be one of them.  I can't remember actually teaching her because it was easy, uneventful.

 My younger daughter was eight years younger.  Although she enjoyed having a bike, she insisted on keeping her training wheels on until she was ten years old.  There were no kids on our block now (so she had no motivation to keep up with her friends), and we lived on a hill.  It's hard to learn on a hill:  tough to go up, scary to go down!    We decided that we'd seriously try to learn on the Fourth of July weekend.  We went to a parking lot with plenty of empty spaces and began.  I was in my late 40's.  This is a problem because the teaching involves running alongside the child on the bike, one hand on the steering handlebar and one hand behind the child on the rear of the seat, to keep the bike steady and upright.

As we began "the learning"  that day, I promised her that she would be successful.  I guaranteed that she'd be riding a bike on her own before she went back to school in September.  I had no idea how long it would take her to learn.  I didn't want her to feel like a failure if she still hadn't learned to balance a week or more after we'd begun practicing. So I set the deadline target date way, way in the future.

So we started going around the parking lot:  she was peddling and I was running alongside.  I quickly sensed that she was tilting away from me.  That didn't feel good.  I felt as if she would tip over if I didn't pull hard to tilt the bike back toward me.  But despite my strong pulling on the bike seat, the bike continued to angle away from me.  It was a puzzle.  Why was the bike leaning over away from me?

Suddenly, a light went on over my head:  Juliette was leaning over to the right, away from me, because she felt the bike being pulled over (by me!) and she was compensating adjusting for that force.   What should I do?  We couldn't go on the way we were.  I was really out of breath!  Then I realized what I had to do:  I had to stop pulling on her seat; I had to let go of the seat!  A small weak part of me was terrified:  "But if I let go, the bike will tip right over!"  But my gut knew that wasn't true.  If she stopped feeling my pulling her toward me, she could ride centered and straight up. 

So I secretively removed my hand from the bike seat, continued to run alongside with my hand on the handlebar, and watched the bike straighten right up and balance evenly!!   Juliette was riding a bike.  She was successful.  I was successful.  WE were successful.  Then she noticed from our shadow on the parking lot tarmac that my hand was not on the seat.  "Daddy, you promised not to let go!!"  I shouted back that I was sorry but had to let go or suffer a heart attack.  She yelled with joy as she revelled in her flight, as she pedalled away from me.  Then she screamed in panic that she didn't know how to stop! (But she did fine with a soft landing.)

 What is the point of my little tale?  It is this:  For this father and daughter to agree to begin the project of "learning to ride", there had to be in place four testaments of faith.  Juliette had to trust that her father was competent to teach her and that he would not let her get hurt.  I had to trust that Juliette would be capable of learning to ride.  Juliette had to trust herself; that she would be able to ride the bike alone.  I had to trust in myself, that I was up to the task of helping her succeed in this "rite of passage".   And life is filled with similar challenges that must be met head on:  Learning to tie your shoes, to recite the alphabet; learning to swim; learning to skate and to cook and to go on a first date.  A good portion of the joy of parenting is in the ushering of one's child along the road of achievement and growth.