Today my nine-year-old son rode a two-wheeler bike—without assistance and, incidentally, with discernible gusto.
This may not on the surface appear to be big news, but in fact it is because today was the first time.
A year ago, when he was eight, training wheels were required, a panting parent endeavoring to hold up the rear. That’s where he was then.
And this is where he is now.
We never pressured him, never told him kids half his age were flying through the streets with the greatest of ease. As his parents, we didn’t tell him we were riding our own bikes well before age eight. We didn’t say this was something he should learn to do.
We let him come to it in his own time.
And I am so glad we did.
Today he rode with confidence and enthusiasm. There was no pain—despite the occasional and requisite spill—no…
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