16 september 2005
He Rides Off
By Juliet Johnson Opper
I read in People Magazine about how parents are so busy they’re hiring other people to teach their kids fundamental
things, like learning to ride a bike. "Bike coaches," they’re called. Parents are too busy for this?
I admit, I didn’t want to do it myself. It seemed too hard, and there was running involved. The training wheels
were getting loud and loose on Nathan’s bike. He was four and a half. I knew it was time. But how can anyone
teach this? The balancing? The pedaling? Still, we took the training wheels off. I tried running with him in our back
driveway, holding the back of the bike as he pedaled. It’s hard to run all bent over, holding someone up, especially
someone you’d rather not see all scraped up when he crashes into the wall. He pedaled a few times before almost
falling, and I realized I should probably teach him braking before anything else. Better to know how to stop!
The bike leaned against the plastic pirate ship in the backyard for weeks after that. It was hot. We didn’t
have time for another lesson. Neither of us really LIKED the lessons. He started riding the tricycle again.
We tried again. Out front, with a helmet on. I ran alongside, holding the seat, telling him to look where he was going. Telling him to practice braking. Slowly letting go for seconds at a time. He was improving. He could go a little while before I caught him or he crashed into the curb. He got half a block one time. It was happening.
I helped Nathan get going (he still needed help balancing and gaining speed), and then he rode off slowly. Then he slowed enough to put his feet down to drag himself to a stop. He needed help at the beginning and end, but he could
do the middle—the balancing—by himself.
The next night we were out practicing. This time I wanted to see him go!! I kept saying “let me help you get started, so you can go really fast!” But he wasn’t interested. He wanted to keep practicing the boring
part, the starting part, standing with the bike under you. He was trying to learn the precision of lifting his feet,
one at a time. He was trying to learn to balance enough to start his bike pedaling, before it fell over. I stood helplessly in the middle of the street.
I was so frustrated. I wanted him to see how FAST he could go, the fun of going fast would give him more desire to learn to ride.
I sat down on the curb. I wanted Nathan to do it my way. WHERE WAS THE PROGRESS? The sun was going down. Nathan was walking awkwardly with the bike between his legs, making one pedal go up. He was balancing on one foot, putting the other foot on the high pedal. He was wobbling, but trying to get his bottom foot on. He’d get them both on and then the bike would start to fall, so he’d put both feet down. Then he’d start over. And over. And over. Again.
My frenzy started to melt away. My brain somehow began to shrink down to this one moment. I realized that this was
he only day he was going to be struggling with the bike. The time spent learning something is a millisecond compared
to the time spent doing it once you learn it. How could this be? Nathan was right. He didn’t need to ride fast
today. He was going to be riding fast the rest of his life. He was never going to be at this wobbly stage again. This was it.
I watched him. Hardly any cars came by. The street was ours. The world was ours.
He practiced awhile, and then we went in to get ready for bed. He didn’t ride fast that day. He never even got anywhere. He just practiced, on his own, learning to start off.
The next day, he got on his bike and rode off.
Juliet Johnson is a produced playwright and short fiction writer. Her work has been published in Los Angeles
Family Magazine, Collages and Bricollages, and Scribble. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband,
two kids and Gramma Moose. Juliet can be reached at julietmyf@msn.com |
