As is often the case, parenting is fraught with the bittersweet. The smiles on my daughters’ faces could not be bigger (nor their pride more apparent) as they stumble, fall, get up, and stumble some more through the opening rounds of truly two-wheeled riding. Their training wheels are gone, as is a sliver of their innocence and sense of invulnerability…and the truth could be said of their dad.
Aside from learning to swim, I can’t recall seeing from them this much determination and desire when it comes to tackling a new challenge. Oddly enough, going training-wheel-free is significantly more dangerous, with a much more harshly obvious indicator of when success hasn’t been achieved, than all the other developmental milestones they’re reaching. Of course, propelling oneself down the road and literally steering an independent course is heady stuff for a five-year-old (or just about anyone, I guess).
The occasions in my adolescent and adult life when I’ve felt a rush of excitement and a sense of accomplishment have been tethered, at least in part, to a not insignificant amount of fear over whether or not I’d end up flying over my handlebars, so to speak. It’s unfortunate, as I take a mental inventory of the few times in my life that are analogous to my girls’ brave risk-taking, that I have not laughed off as many skinned knees and tumbles in my journey as I could have. I hope to help instill a different tack in my children.
Better yet, I should just encourage them in what they’re doing and help them cultivate what is currently growing. I am so proud of who they already are, and–while half of me wishes I could carefully help them with all of their transitions–I need to evolve alongside them in letting the wheels come off when the timing’s right.
8legs2wheels 