“Dad when can I learn how to ride a two wheeler?” I asked him one sunny summer afternoon day.
“Right now,” he replied causing an ear to ear grin to spread across my round sun-burned face. I ran up to the garage alongside my dad who was walking my bright pink bike complete with a baby doll carrier, horn, and streamers hanging from my white handlebars; not going to lie, it was a pretty awesome bike.
Once my dad was finally done unscrewing the training wheels, I ran up to the end of the cul-de-sac and stood there waiting for him- anxious to get on that bike. Quickly, I hopped on and began pedaling, but something was wrong, I wasn’t going anywhere. I looked back angrily to find my dad holding on to the back of my seat. Confused, I asked him to please let go. With his dad voice he answered,
“You have to be able to balance first.” I put a nice big “whatever you say dad” grin on my face and agreed. Releasing his hold on the back of my seat, I sat there, fairly balanced. Amazed at my own balancing ability, I felt I was ready.
As I started pedaling down our cul-de-sac I felt my tiny hands that gripped the handle bars get sweaty, and my heart started racing something bad was going to happen. My dad’s grip loosened then slowly released, I felt myself tip as if I were in slow motion- but helpless and not able to do anything about it. I hit with a thud on the hot black pavement that stung my new raw cut I had just received. (It really wasn’t that bad, but when you’re a kid every cut seems bad.) Instead of crying over my fall, I got mad. My face turned red with anger and my forehead wrinkled with fury.
“Why didn’t you catch me?” I asked my dad with my eyes narrowing on him. Confused, he replied with,
“Me? I couldn’t catch you. You were falling the opposite way.” Not believing that was a good enough excuse, I stormed inside to go tattle on him to mom. Being the stubborn little kid I was I didn’t get on that bike for the rest of the day. I was never going to ride it again and made arrangements to ride my scooter everywhere.
My plans suddenly changed when my parents took me to a nice big open parking lot the next morning. Figuring that it was pretty much impossible to fall with my mom on one side and my dad on the other, I agreed to get back on. Remounting my bright pink bike, (still without the training wheels,) I started to pedal yet again.
This time I got a different feeling in my stomach. It was as if butterflies filled up my stomach and were flying up my throat causing me to feel excited. I started pedaling faster and faster until my parents were running beside me. Then, with a quick movement of his hand, my dad released his tight grip on the back of my seat. I was riding my bike all by myself! I was pretty happy for myself; I was finally a big kid.
Making turns, honking my pink horn, I looked like a pro out there. Or so I thought. Pedaling around I felt I was good enough to do something a little more challenging, smile at the camera my mom had pointed at me.
There was only one lamppost in the whole entire parking lot, and guess whothat ran into it? Me! It was head on too, causing it to whip lash me and not be able to smile at the camera. I catch sight of my parents out of the corner of my eye, and they are laughing at me. Realizing what I had just done, I started to laugh too.
It gets better; I know your thinking how could it get any better she already ran into a pole. My dad caught it on tape! I have actually thought of sending it into America’s Funniest Home Videos. Then, I rethought the idea of completely humiliating myself on national TV and reconsidered the idea.
Needless to say, I learned my lesson. Never look back at the camera while riding a bike because you’ll never know when you’re going to run into a pole.