I didn't start out on a small bike like kids do today, then work my way up to a "big girl bike." No, Daddy bought me a 26" girls bike and just lowered the seat to it's lowest point and put training wheels on it. It was blue. The training wheels were set unevenly - just enough to stop you from tipping too far to either side. I'm not sure what prompted the removal of the training wheels. Perhaps it was that I was the only one among my friends who still had hers on or maybe Daddy just knew what I didn't know - that I could ride without them, I just needed to do it.
I was a little scared when Daddy took them off but secretly I wanted to lose those things. It's like a right of passage from baby to big girl. Plus, he told me if I didn't get it then he'd put them back on.
We rode up and down the sidewalk in front of the house. He would run beside me and hold the seat to steady me. He'd let go and I'd start to fall so he'd grab hold again. Each time we'd start over and he would run beside me (I can still hear those footsteps). Just before he'd let go of the seat he'd tell me he was going to let go. I would lose all confidence and start to fall. This exercise went on for quite some time. I wanted to give up and he'd encourage me to try one more time.
Then, suddenly we were going down the sidewalk, further than we had ever been. He was running along side of me, I was pedaling really fast and he's saying "You're Doing It!! You're doing it!!" When we got to the end of the street where the sidewalk ran out I realized that he had let go awhile back and not told me - just kept running alongside, ready to catch me if I fell, letting me believe he was still holding on, but all the time saying over and over "you're doing it." By the time I realized he wasn't holding on I was way far ahead.
I still hear him today - his encouragement of anything I wanted to, his support whenever I failed and had to start over and his running along side me, cheering me along when I finally succeeded.
