Learning to Fall Off a Bike

     Today, I girded up my loins in Lycra yoga capris and steeled my nerves to teach my youngest son how to ride his bike. My fellow parents will understand my reluctance to accomplish this milestone as it becomes a lesson in patience and letting go of more than the handle bars. 

     For with the removal of the training wheels, comes the removal of keeping them safe. While not placing them in mortal danger, this is one of the first acts of parenthood where we need to learn to watch them fall. And it sucks! What hurt my son physically today, hurt my soul. I cringed with every fall, sucked in my breath with every scrap, and felt lower than a cockroach digging in manure every time he looked back at me, his eyes saying “what kind of monster lets her child fall and then tells him to get up and try again?”

     But I did. I smiled and called out encouragements. I even swore a little under my breath and over it too as I jogged alongside him balancing the center of the handlebars between my fingers and sweating like a demon in hell. I wiped his tears and threw out every generic inspiring phrase I could remember. “You can do it.” “Just keep trying.” “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”  Believe me, I got tired of hearing my own voice and wanted to punch myself in the face. But we persevered.

     He’d teeter from side to side begging me not to let go, all the while I knew I had to. Knew it was for his benefit and independence that I release my hands and watch him go. Even if it meant watching him fall. I forced myself to keep my voice calm and even, not making a big fuss, as I lifted the bike off his six-year-old body, inspecting his small bruises and encouraging him to do it all again. 

     But the biggest challenge of all was learning not to quit. It would be easy to throw in the towel and go home. Leave it for another day or another day or another distant appointment in the future when our nerves would both grow miraculously strong as steel and the ground would be less hard and the bike steadier. That’s the easy way out. The one I couldn’t teach him or myself today.

     No. I had to teach him not to quit on himself or me. I had to let him show himself what he was capable of. Show him the courage, dedication, determination, and skills he possessed deep down inside. He learned that he was stronger than a scraped knee, braver than self-doubt. He could conquer his fears, one bike ride at a time.
     Then came the moment, he sailed forth a few yards ahead of me over the grass, perfectly balanced and pedaling his little boy heart out. My words sang out, “You’re doing it.” “You got this.” And I saw his eyes, the high-beam of his smile saying everything I knew this moment could accomplish. He believed it himself. His cries of fear transformed into cries of elation. “Mom, did you see me.” “I want to do it again.”
     With fear behind him, we chased the thrill of accomplishment. Still sweating but with a new spring in my step, I ran alongside him, working hard and harder to keep up as he rode further and faster ahead of me. Another metaphor for life and maybe part of the reason we delay these lessons. Because once our children learn to overcome their fears and embrace their abilities, we are left to chase after them and their independence as they grow further ahead of and away from us.
     The hardest part of parenting is letting go. Letting them fall. Letting them know, that while we will always have their back, they can do things on their own, unsupported by training wheels and insecurity.