Growing Up

Is there a more defining moment in parenthood than the day you teach your child to ride a bicycle for the first time? Sure, the day they were born may be the greatest day of your life, and when they speak their first words or take their first steps, those are milestones to be cherished for sure. But the day you get your little one on a bike, push them up to speed, and let go... that's the quintessential conflict that underlies all of parenting. I mean, you have to do this, right? Do you know anybody that doesn't know how to ride a bike? But it's inherently unsafe; a skinned knee is such a likely outcome. And you can only run alongside them ready to grab them at the slightest wobble for so long. So you just let go, and watch. You've done all you can: outfitted them with the proper safety equipment, explained to them that the conservation of angular momentum will keep the wheels' axes perpendicular to the ground so long as they maintain a critical speed threshold, and wished them luck. That's it. That's all you can do. Then they start pedaling faster and faster and pretty soon they'll be doing wheelies. But along with the conflicting sensations of loss and pride comes the satisfaction of knowing that you were there for them. So begins our transition from a provider of life support to a provider of moral support. I'm sure it will take us a while to get used to this new role, but in the end it will be just like riding a bike.