I was over 5 years old when I started to learn how to ride a bike. I must have spent 3-4 days with little progress. Late in the evening on the forth day my mother stopped by to see me ride. No luck.
She held the bike and asked me to pedal. I did. She let go. I stopped pedalling and gravity took over. We went through this routine couple of times. Same result. Bruised - both physically and ego-wise (after all she had let go) I stood up and refused to ride.
My mother looked me in the eye and calmly told me that I would not be allowed back in to the house if I did not learn how to ride on my own. Simple. With that she turned and walked back.
The sun had set. I was alone. I tried. It must have taken me over an hour to master the rudimentary skills. Pedal. Stop. Pedal. Stop. Straight line pedalling, nothing fancy. Bruised and with a smile, I walked back indoor and announced my success. She smiled and we walked out into the evening. I pedalled. I managed to not fall. She patted me on the head and we both walked back indoor.
There is lot in common between life, parents and training wheels. All along I had my parents as my training wheels - my safety net - in my life. Things have changed over the last 2-3 weeks. From riding with only 1 training wheel, I am now down to none. There will be no more unseen hands holding me up and tending to the various bruises. I would like to think that perhaps I am ready. Only time will tell.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
The interesting thing about life is adaptation. The training wheels are indeed gone, but you are well trained and can ride steadily alone. The voices cheering you on are familiar ones, however. You just have to close your eyes and listen.
Post a Comment