Tuesday, 12 July 2011
I will catch you if you fall...
Today has been all about bikes.
My daughter Olivia has set her sights at learning to ride her new bike.
Without training wheels.
She is seven. (She is tiny.)
She is artistic, beautiful and articulate, and I could not be more proud of her strengths.
Persistence is one.
Cycling without training wheels is not. Yet.
She is a cautious and peaceful child, and always has been. I realise, as I try and help her on that damn bike, that she has no recklessness in her soul at all. There is not one shred of a risk taker in her.
She knows she will fall, and cannot and will not allow that to happen.
She knows, I sense, that she must fall, in order to eventually succeed.
I watched her, her face nearly next to mine as I held on to the saddle, willing it all, so hard, to work without risk. If she imagines it hard enough, if she sees it all working seamlessly in her minds eye, if she feels it in her heart, can she ride that damn bike without wobbles and stacks? Without trepidation?
We chatted later. I reassured her that we would practice again tomorrow, on the oval behind our property. On the grass. Where the landing is softer. Kinder.
But I will still probably fall, won't I? She asked, her huge green eyes pleading for some reassurance.
She breaks my heart. I cuddled her, and said yes, you'll still maybe fall.
But I will be here.
Let me catch you if you fall...