"Please."
"Nope."
"PLEASE!"
"Nope."
"WHY????"
"Don't want to."
This is how it went when I was begging my son to learn to ride a two wheeler. We bought him a cool bike that looked like a red motorcycle, an army cammo helmet...no dice. He inSISted on riding this teensy bike with a frame that was MAYBE ten inches long. His knees whacked the handlebars steadily like the sound playing cards make when tucked in the spokes. The training wheels rattled and shook under his massive 36 pound frame. He wobbled up and down the street: all four clackety wheels of him. You could see on his face that he was flying a jet engine or passing Tony Stewart in NASCAR. But you could walk along beside him. So we let him go. He'd tell us when.
And he did. Out of the blue. He stood up tall (as tall as he could) and said "I want to ride the big bike." I was stunned and rushed outside. "Not yet...." he added. "I want to learn on the little one first." So my husband gnawed off the training wheels quickly while I charged up every battery we had and then borrowed some from my neighbors. I got both video cameras going, had our digital camera out and my cell phone ready, poised and waiting. I was cheering, waving and jumping around "C'mon Boo! Attta Boy! Smile!!!!" He rolled his eyes and dug his toe into the ground. "Mommmmmmmy. Wait til I get on the bike first."
Well, I'll confess proudly that I used every bloomin battery, all my digital card space and as much room as my lil phone could hold. He did it! He ran smack into the curb, side swiped the mailbox and wiped out. I had to make sure he wasn't still looking through the ear strap due to the impact. He was a trooper,though. Or perhaps he was simply too stunned to stop. ANYWAY, we kept going. My husband jogging behind him, shouting to never stop pedalling and then there was this moment: He GOT it. He just knew how it all worked. His universe came together and that little boy WAS flying that jet fighter. He passed Tony Stewart on the outside and roared past him ....to victory. The best part of the audio is when I quietly said "Go Boo. Never stop. I'm right here watching you." Oh my little boy rode away from me that day.
I tell you this so you can understand what I saw last Saturday as I pulled onto my street.
A tiny red streak with a muddy green q-tip perched on top is zipping about like a starving mosquito. Yep, my once reluctant son is on his "motorcycle" again. But THIS time, with the help of his daddy, he's revving up to jump a ramp...a homemade ramp. My husband is standing authoritatively in the street barking advice on how to get the most air. They must have seen me or maybe they heard that squeeching sound as I sucked all the air in my car into my lungs. "Wait~ no..." I choke and pop the curb, parking almost sideways in the driveway. Realizing I could be over reacting "jest a lil bit", I emerge from my car, give an indifferent sniff and casually ask "Whaz up gents?" through gritted teeth. They turn to me with eyes as bright as a new moon and say "Bike ramp!"
"Cool." I shrug while trying to swallow my heart which feel as if it's hammering in my mouth. "Watch me Mommy! Watch THIS!" My smile is tight, my pulse visible in my neck and I am squinting, pretending that the sun is fourteen inches from my face. I do this so I don't have to witness him 1) miss and skid sideways producing a bloody strawberry patch that runs the length of his tiny body 2) hit the front edge of the ramp, flying over the handlebars and producing a bloody strawberry patch that fills his face and claims all his front teeth or 3) slows down ON the ramp and creates a half-assed catapult that launches him face first into the cement producing a bloody strawberry....you get it, I'm sure.
But I am wrong. All wrong as he rushes to the end of our street, musters up every ounce of energy God Almighty could stuff inside him and begins pedalling to beat the devil himself. He hits that ramp dead on and slices through the air. All three inches of it. "YESSSSS!" he hisses and adds a gravel spitting fishtail for effect. (Two pebbles angrily assault the toe of my shoe.)My husband is cheering and jumping up and down. "Go Big Dog! WOOF!" I find my breath again and begin ecstatically clapping. "Good job Boo!" Then my husband bends down and tuggs thoughtfully at the wood. "Wanna make it taller?"
My son starts to drool..."YEAHHHHHHHHHHH TALLLLLER!!!!!!"
"Nope." I say to no one in particular as the saw fires up to cut another wood plank for our daredevil. I hear wolfish hungry giggling as I saunter into the house to check my wallet for my insurance card. Just in case.
