Tuesday, July 6, 2010

A Childs Nemesis

It is always surprising what childhood memories that a person carries with them into adulthood.
I will never forget the day that I learned how to ride my bicycle without training wheels.
My dad decided that at the age of seven, the training wheels on my pink unicorn bicycle with the colorful tassels were well past their use.
For almost a week, he prepped me and piped about how great was to ride a bicycle without training wheels. I couldn’t wait until that Saturday, when he was off from work, so that he could teach me how to ride my bicycle like a big girl!
On that following Saturday, he took me outside into the hot summer heat and told me how easy it was to pedal without the extra support holding me up.
He held onto the back of my seat while I pedaled as quickly as I could.
“You’re doing it! All by yourself!” he would holler with encouragement in his voice after he released me.
As soon as I realized that I was riding solo, I would lose my balance and fall to the ground.
Then he tried pushing me.
“Go, go, go!” I’d turn around as he urged me on, just to fall down again.
As the day wore on, so did my confidence that riding without my trusty training wheels was a great idea.
The more cuts, scrapes, bruises, and sores that I received, the more fearful I was, and the least able I was to stay on that bicycle. I was beginning to develop a grudge against the heap of metal that had become my nemesis.
My dad was also losing his patience. It seemed like the harder he tried to explain how to ride on two wheels, the less I listened. What he thought would take less than an hour, was now stretching well past lunchtime.
Finally he decided that we could break for lunch.
The relief that I felt was overwhelming! Now I could have enough time to try and figure out how to convince him to stop torturing me. What was wrong with training wheels anyway?
I took my time eating and he seemed to feel the same way I was feeling. After eating my sandwich, I escaped to my bedroom to play with my other toys, but the bicycle seemed to be calling my name. Time and time again, I would approach the window and peek out to look out at the bicycle lying on the ground neglected. The bicycle’s tassels swaying in the breeze and urging me to not give up.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I snuck outside and walked out to the bicycle, and stared down at it. I stood for a couple minutes and began to imagine myself on top of it riding in the wind.
To this day I don’t know where the idea came from, but I picked it up and rolled it to the top of a small hill that was in our yard.
I straddled myself on top and coasted slowly to the bottom.
Now, that wasn’t that bad! Maybe I could do it again, but pedal this time.
I hauled the bicycle to the peak again, and this time, I pedaled as quickly as my feet would go. I kept pedaling and pedaling, and rode a full circle around my house.
Excitedly, I ran inside to show my dad. He could not believe his eyes when he saw me on my bicycle, the wind blowing in my hair, and a smile of pride on my face. I’ll never forget the satisfaction and pleasure that I felt when I entered into a new level of maturity and conquered the arduous task of eliminating two wheels on my bicycle.
Two years later, my brother was born. He was younger than I had been when I convinced him to mount his bicycle on a small hill at the bottom of our driveway.
“Now Tommy, you don’t have to pedal yet. Just ride the bicycle to the bottom. Just trust me!”
When he pedaled the bicycle on his second trip down that hill, I was able to feel the pride and the joy that my dad had felt when he watched me claim victory over the battle between my bicycle and I.