…for Callie

March, 2014

Don't Think I'm Helpless Just Because I'm Cute And Cuddly!

Even in this technological age, there are some things of childhood that remain stable. Blocks. Tinkertoys. Skates. (Thingmakers, unfortunately, are no longer around.) Oh, the parts may change a little—polyurethane wheels instead of ankle-numbing metal ones—but the basic elements remain the same.

Such as… bicycles…

Lexi's first experience with pedal-powered transportation was a tricycle. Not a Big Wheel—a proper tricycle. Metal. Sky blue with multicolored flowers (assembled by Uncle Jethro, decorated by Aunties Ziva and Abby). She rode it until she was miles too big for it, then graduated to a purple and pink psychedelic toddler bike (the kind with perma-bond training wheels).

Next step: big kid bike…

…with removable training wheels.

With a small child in residence, Ducky and I had rediscovered bicycling as an art form. No, you don't forget…but dragging the technique out of long-term memory and into current usage is difficult, to say the least. (And skinned knees at 57 as opposed to 7 are a killer; I swear Bactine worked better when I was a kid.) But after a few months, we were chugging right along.

Physician, heal thyself—Ducky discovered regular biking helped his bad knee almost as much as swimming did. We three took regular evening rides, looping and swirling up and down the bike path to the small park down the way, where we'd make a leisurely circuit and note the day to day changes in the plots of flowers: big, fat, showy petunias, smiling pansies, dancing snapdragons. After the New Year, every so often Lexi would mention training wheels and the removal thereof; Ducky would point out something and deflect her attention. Helmet or no, he was very reluctant to let go of anything that would help her stay safe. (I had a picture of a loop on her I-pod: "look both ways… come to a complete stop… don't insist on the right of way…" well until she leaves grad school.)

But Lexi can be very insistent. She wanted those wheels off and she wanted to start riding her bike to school. She was a smart negotiator: ask for more than you want, "settle" and end up with what you wanted in the first place. She knew Daddy wasn't going to let her ride to school on her own—but it would make him more likely to remove those blasted wheels. Riding to school could be renegotiated later.

It was with great reluctance that he unbolted the little side wheels and set them on the worktable in the garage. We took turns holding on to the back bar of the bike, running with Lexi, letting go, letting her wobble and crash. Every skinned knee and scraped elbow, Ducky would shoot me a, "See? See?" look as he cleaned and bandaged her booboos.

But she is a determined child. Each time we held on and ran with her, she'd object. "I can do it myself!" she demanded. "I'm not a baby! Let go!"

I finally took myself out of the picture and stepped aside, but Ducky continued to fuss and squawk and run with her wobbling bike down the walk.

"Let go!"

"Lexi, it's too soon! Let me put the wheels back on—"

"No!" She braked to a hard stop and they almost ended up in a heap on the concrete. "Let go of me, Daddy! I can do it by myself!" She actually glowered at him a little until he released the sissy bar and reluctantly stepped away. "Let go," she repeated, even though he no longer held on. She pushed off, wobbled a few feet, started to fall; he stepped forward and stopped himself just in time. She leaned way over… stopping with her foot on the ground before she fell completely over. Pedal. Wobble. Lean. Stop. Pedal. Wobble. Lean. Stop. Pedal. Wobble. Lean… recover… pedal more… wobble… pedal… pedal… pedal, pedal, pedal… Away she went, down the walk to Mrs. McKirk's house; a slow, shaky U-turn in the driveway, then back past us, more sure of herself this time. "I'm not a baby!" she called out, still fighting the fight she had won.

Ducky watched her ride off to the edge of the Harrisons' property. Even from where I stood at the top of the drive, I could see the wistful look on his face. "Oh, sweetheart…" The wind had shifted and his whisper carried back to me. "You'll always be my baby… and I will never let you go."