Father Notes: Patience

It's been a little under two years since my daughter asked to try to ride a bike.  Lately, she has witnessed more and more of her friends getting proficient at riding, and I think it finally piqued her curiosity enough to give it another go.

My wife told me, "You better put those training wheels back on for a minute.  It's been a long time."  So, I listened as my wife is often smarter than I am about these things.  I tend to be more of a "full speed ahead" type when it comes to teaching my daughter things.  So, I sat on the floor of the garage and I reattached the training wheels to my daughter's now undersized bike.  We took it for a spin down the road and back, but she kept saying she was scared, that the rattle of the training wheels was unnerving her.

So I went back to the garage and set about undoing the training wheels from the tiny bike.  I was worried that this would be another excuse, another false start toward getting her to do something I REALLY want her to be able to do.  I could feel myself already starting to push, to get short and sharp in my tone.  I wanted her to do this.

With the training wheels off the bike, I set off down the driveway where my daughter sat on the curb looking nervous.  I stood there with the two-wheeler and looked down at her.  "What's going on?"  I asked.

"I'm scared."

"I know you are, honey." I said. "I don't expect you to not be scared.  It's what we do with our fear that is important.  Someone once said, and I can't remember who, 'Courage isn't the absence of fear.  It is moving ahead anyway, even though you are afraid.'" (Sorry, Nelson Mandela, for the horrible misquote).

"Okay," came her soft reply.  "But you won't let go, right?"

"Right," I said.  I worried a little about this because most parents realize that there comes a point where this is going to be a lie.  If she starts doing it on her own, I will let go.  I will let her take off on her own, even if that means she crashes a couple of feet from my open hand.

Shea did great though.  She got back on the bike, and within 50 or so feet, I wasn't holding the bike anymore.  My hand was resting against her at the back of the seat, but my fingers were not clenched there.  I was providing no guidance, no direction with it.  I simply rested my hand at her back and watched her go.

For anyone who has gone through this moment as a parent, you'll understand the joy of it, the upswelling of pride as you see your child physically mastering a new skill.  Shea rode "unassisted" for a couple of seconds each time before I clenched back down and kept her from falling off sideways, but I could see her gaining more encouragement.

Finally, she got on the bike, pushed off, started pedaling, and I let go.  I let go, let go.  I allowed my hand to fall to my side.  Shea rode for about 10-15 seconds before putting her feet down and bringing herself to an awkward stop.

She turned to look at me about 10 feet behind her with my hands in the air and a smile on my face.  Then, we back slid.  I praised her for doing it all by herself, but when we set off to try again, she did worse and worse.  She kept stopping short, or she stopped immediately after my hand pulled away.  It was fear making its move again.  She knew in her mind that she could do it, but the fear was holding her back from really taking off.

When we got back to the house, she was ready to quit.  She didn't want to ride on our street any more.  Then, and this is the moment that really makes me proud, she asked if we could go to the park.  "There aren't as many hills there," she said.

"Done," I said.  "Let's get mommy."

So we gathered Tracy and made our way to the park where there is a large, newly paved parking lot.  It is wide, mostly flat, and open.  She had originally wanted to ride the bike paths around the park, but when I told her she could try riding in the parking lot, she looked excited.  There was nothing really in her way, nothing to crash into, no real traffic coming along, and we started again.

As soon as we got her on the bike and pushing off, she took to it.  She didn't go far, she didn't go long, but she did it all on her own.  She even fell once, scraping her hand and foot a little bit, but she got back on and did it again.

As I sit here now reflecting on what happened today, I can't help but realize how patient I am going to have to be in the coming years.  I am going to have to let her find her own way, her own time, for when she is ready for things.  I will always want things for my daughter's life.  I will always hope she acquires this skill or that talent, but I am going to have to let go of driving her.  I'm going to have to let go of my own time frame for things because the last time I tried to teach her to ride a bike two years ago, we both went home disappointed, and she could probably read that on me.

The other thing that I remembered today is that anything worth having is worth trying for, worth practicing, worth coming back to, even after a long absence, and so I knew I would write today.  If I am going to teach my daughter about acting in the face of fear, then I need to lead by example.