Our first-born learned to ride a bike today.
He’s been working on it all summer. Quite frankly I was sure when we gave him a bike for Christmas last year that he wouldn’t even need training wheels. He spent two years on a pedal-free bike, free-wheeling around the neighborhood like a pro. I figured he’d hop on “Major Damage,” (the name- yes it has a name- of the bike we chose) and ride off with confidence. But he didn’t and instead has been tearing around on it with the training wheels on for months, yelling “MMAAJJOORRDDAAMMAAGGEE” for all to hear (and giving them enough warning to hop out of the way).
But today, after asking for his training wheels off for about a week, he got on M.D., and with just a little push, took off and rode over the grass in the meadow. Demanding shortly thereafter to be allowed to ride on concrete, specifically the big loop that runs around our side of Prospect Park.
I got tears in my eyes when I first saw him balancing out there and peddling without a backwards glance. It was like watching him take his first steps; it felt like such a momentous event. He’s figured it out! And after a day is already the pro I thought he’d always be.
Of course you always say how amazing your children are, how they surprise you with the things they say and their accomplishments. But the truth is that you forget sometimes. Or at least I do. But when you see them do something so big, that required so much coordination, you are reminded of how little and helpless they once were, and how far they’ve come.