“The Wonder Years”
and “The Cosby Show”
, I naively looked forward to the day that I would teach my child to ride a bicycle. I could picture it so clearly: The sun would be shining, the grass would be the perfect green to compliment the azure blue of the sky, I’d take pictures of my son, proudly straddling his bike, triumphantly grinning at me as we basked in the afterglow of learning to ride. He’d have a band-aid on his knee from a little fall, but he’s be so proud. It would be a beautiful mother-son bonding experience and I, for one, couldn’t wait.
Damn you 80s sitcoms. Here’s how it really went down: All the way to the park, we discussed how it was not going to be easy
, that he would fail a lot before he would succeed
, that he would feel frustrated and that would be okay
. We talked about positive attitude and giving it a go. I was like a motivational speaker on crack. At the park, Little Man got on his bike, helmet on, face set in determination. I held the front handlebar and the seat and calmly explained that I wouldn’t let him fall. I was all Mother Theresa kind and caring. I was the picture on the front of the parenting books.
Until we started.
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