Yesterday The Little Man took his bike out of the garage for the first time in months. Seventy-five degrees in February will do that. He had the training wheels attached and spent the day tooling around, riding to the park, racing his friend through puddles.
Today, he asked if we could take the training wheels off. I hesitated and negotiated. How about one wheel? Show me you can ride on the bike with depending on that one training wheel and we will take the other one off. I also insisted he ride down the space next to the garage and into the backyard so he could have a soft landing when he fell. But he didn't fall, and he didn't like riding on the soft grass. Even though it was safer, it wasn't much fun. So we moved to the street.
I fretted.
I hovered.
He pedaled.
He balanced.
He asked for the other wheel to come off. I thought about the knee pads and elbow pads in the basement.
The wheel came off... we went back to the street. I gripped the back of his seat and slowly, very slowly, started to move him forward. And let go... and he rode. Without me.
He still needs a little help getting started, but he's already a pro in this short time.
Why am I saying this? Because holding him back isn't an option. We never would have known he could ride his bike if I hadn't taken the wheels off. And the best part was that he was ready! I was the one holding him back.
As I come to the end of this wonderful vacation week, I am committing myself to taking the training wheels off in my classes. I've spent months with the training wheels on. It's time to see what my students can do without them.