I’ve read somewhere that before we all move on to a better place, each one of us can leave his own mark on the world by one, planting a tree, or two, fathering a child. I’d like to add my own take on how to achieve some sort of immortality. One is to teach a child to read. While the other one is to teach a child to bike. And while I take singular pride in having taught kids to read, I am also tickled pink at the knowledge that I gave some fine youngsters the power to ride their bikes away confidently into the sunset. I join an elite corps of privileged adults then, that helped children discover their own sense of balance, as they mastered a mechanical contraption that seemed intimidating at first.
My first bike was a trike, and riding it was a piece of cake, especially with an over eager and over solicitous father who was always just half a step away from me. But I remember a friend’s son, who even at the ripe old age of 12, still couldn’t ride a bike, let alone speed away in one.
His friends thought he was too pudgy to ride one. Even his uncles shied away from the idea of teaching him, especially when I suggested that they can try pushing him from behind, all the way —and without ever letting go of the bike itself. But that’s almost like carrying him, they protested, claiming that all that weight on a bike in need of a push can indeed make anyone break into a fine sweat.
How can I not help, I told myself. This boy is after all, my godchild. Hey, I can run. His mom can’t because she’s flatfooted, and his dad is too busy. But more than anything else, I know how to bike. I may be the only way by which this child can ever get to learn the joys of riding this wonderful means of transportation. So when my friend launched into her tenth tale of how her son was left behind by friends because they all sped away on their easy riders last Sunday, I declared immediately that that coming weekend, I was coming over to teach him finally how to bike.
I did sweat buckets that day. I pushed and ran after my godchild’s bike, and then when the bike would teeter and careen wildly when he lost control, I’d hurry up to catch him, grabbing on to the bike’s rear end to keep it up. Don’t look down, and look far, I’d shout repeatedly, as these happened in waves: push and run, push and run, then run faster and catch, run faster and catch.
As I neared exhaustion, thoughts raced through my head. Oh Patron Saint of Balance and Equilibrium, fill my godchild to the brim right now. If there is a guardian angel of kids- who- must- wreck -bicycles -before- they- finally learn, heed my prayer. And just when it seemed that it was never going to happen…well, it did! My god child was biking! Beautifully! Fluidly! And I laughed triumphantly, as I tentatively let go of his bike’s rear end. His bike stayed up and my godchild turned to smile at me gratefully, and I smiled back, and gave him the thumbs up. That must have been the last push he needed because he suddenly pedaled faster…and faster…and then he was over a shrub!
I screamed, his mom screamed but my godchild emerged from the bushes whooping with joy! What a sense of accomplishment! He was a biking man, so we told him, as a rain of high fives was exchanged. We made biking history that day. And save for a slight scratch on his right arm, my godson basically escaped unscathed,with nothing that a little dab of Terramycin Plus (Polymixin B Sulfate + Bacitracin Zinc + Neomycin Sulfate) Antibacterial Skin Ointment couldn’t fix. But he felt ten feet tall, as I did too.
Lesson learned: I guess what children really need from an adult, especially their parents, is a little push. And once you’ve pushed, don’t let go, stay in step, even if you have to run to keep up with your child as he embarks on his journey.
