Bike Lessons

When I was five or six my parents gave me a bright shiny new bicycle. It was beautiful. It had a sparkly banana seat and I couldn't wait to jump on it and ride like the wind. We lived on a street that had 2.3 kids in every house – I was the only girl – and I was one of the youngest. That bike was my ticket into the boys club.

When I first laid my eyes on it I envisioned joining the neighborhood pack and racing off on grand adventures unknown. Up to this point I was left out when my big brother and the rest of the street kids went to far off places – like the field behind our neighborhood or the convenience store a few streets away. (Back in the late 60’s it was still safe for a kid to venture to such places). But I would be left out no more; the size of my world just exploded.

To me that bike was more than two wheels, a seat and a chain. That bike was grown up. That bike was freedom.

Problem was I couldn't ride it. I didn’t know how to ride a two-wheeler. I had dreamed of this day and even though I now had my bike my greater world was still beyond my grasp. What I needed was someone who knew how to ride a bike to show me what to do. Luckily, my dad was more than happy to volunteer for the job.

The first thing he did was put training wheels on my bike. I hated those things! They looked so dorky and just screamed “I’m a baby who doesn’t know how to ride a big kid bike.” After a few days or so I asked if we could remove the training wheels. I felt comfortable and thought it was time for them to go. Instead, dad adjusted them so they were uneven, making the bike wobbly. Telling me that since I had handled that so well now I needed to see how I did when the training wheels weren’t so secure. Heavy sigh.

We kept this “adjustment” period up for what seemed to me to be an eternity. It was unbearable after a while. Bikes don't go fast when burdened by training wheels. Finally came the big day and dad agreed that the wheels could come off. But even then I still had trouble keeping the bike upright on my own. So dad did what all great dads do – tried to induce himself into having a heart attack. He must have run up and down our street holding on to me and the bike for miles. I don’t know how many times I crashed into curbs, trees, cars or him. But he was so patient and strong and never got tired.

And he never let go of me – at least not until the very last minute when he was sure I knew how to steer safely and I was strong enough to keep peddling on my own. And when he did finally let go – Oh man, I don’t think I had ever felt such a rush of joy and fear and excitement in all my short six years. I can still picture exactly where I was on the street the moment I realized I was riding my bike on my own. That was one big smile. It’s still one of the coolest days of my life.

Keeping us safe and not letting us get ahead of ourselves – that’s a dad’s job.

We want to grow up quickly and rush out to conquer the world but it is the Dad’s job to slow us down and make sure we are strong enough to steer and peddle on our own. I feel like that’s where I am right now. Riding with training wheels - on what/for what I have no clue. But I know, just like my dad, my Heavenly Father won’t let me go until He is certain I won’t crash and burn. Well, at least not too often but if I do, also, just like dad, He too will pick me up, dust me off and send me back out there.

I don’t know why, but I feel like my world is about to explode and another big smile is coming when it does.