A red tricycle with a big white bow greeted me in my backyard of my third birthday. With a childish excitement and a glow in my eyes, Mom guided me around the patio on my new present and Dad stood back and filmed for the family video collection.
In Kindergarten, I upgraded to a "big girl." After a little practice, Dad and I sat in the garage with his tools and stripped my bike of its training wheels. Dad pushed me down the street, and I thought I was Lance Armstrong or something. As he loosened his grip, I wavered, but he was there to catch me.
In the sixth grade, I got really mad for some very sixth-grade reason—my mom told me something I didn’t want to hear, one of my brothers didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear, or my sister wouldn’t hear what I was telling her. So, I stormed into the garage, making a scene because what else would I do, and I got on my bike and plunged down the driveway and around the corner. I was headed to the place I felt most safe, grandma's house, because no one would ever find me there. But, I got in a little fight with the sidewalk in front of my neighbor's house not even 30 seconds away from my own front steps. I pulled myself up from the sidewalk to find two gashed knees. With tears swelling up in my eyes and my neighbor yelling "Are you OK?" I choked out that I was fine, and I pedaled on. I made it all the way around the block and back to my house when I accepted defeat.
Hot, summer days as a teen I found myself lost in Bemis woods a mile away from home for hours on end. With my headphones in, I pedaled away into my thoughts and away from reality.
Today, I ride a stranger's bike I borrowed, in a city I barely knew, and I got lost, in my thoughts and literally lost in this land foreign to me. No longer do I have Dad and Mom by my side; no longer do I have training wheels; no longer are my neighbors checking to see if I am OK; and no longer do I have familiarity working in my favor. As I further my endeavors and distance grows between my support and me, I wish for a moment I could just have my training wheels back but that would be childish. So, next time I pedal away in a heated stress or deep in thought, I will remember what my training wheels taught me, the support they provided, and the guidance they gave me.
