I never did like cycling.
And my late-dad, the traditional man that he was, was never nurturing or patient enough to teach me how to cycle.
The first time I rode a bicycle was during my first year at poly. I lost my balance when the bike hit a drain and ended up dislocating my wrist bone when I fell.
It was around noon then, with the sun high at its peak. I left for home but was afraid to tell my parents of the incident. It was only at night when my dad urged me to shower that I had no choice but to tell him the truth. I couldn't move my wrist, much less manage in removing my sweat-dirt stained clothes for a shower.
We promptly took a bus to a sinseh where the very painful treatment left me nauseous with black spots of dizziness. I recovered after a few weeks but I never touched a bike again until many years later.
I suppose in part, that with such an unpleasant experience, I felt it a necessity for my children to learn cycling (and swimming). These were life skills that I wanted them to acquire.
So when Little L displayed a willingness to stop piggy-backing on Papa's bike and to try learning cycling, I jumped at the opportunity to teach her. With Papa leading the rambunctious boys away for a ride, I stayed behind with her.
She was a ball of nerves as she sat on the bike - hesitant and tense and fearful. The park was dark and with not too many people around, which was good for someone wibbling widely between both lanes.
For the good part of the hour long rental, she was just trying to find her balance, cruising along by pushing the bike with her feet. Only in the last 20 minutes did she managed some semblance of balance and attempt to start pedalling.
I at first held her seat and handlebar while running along sideways like a crab. Her fear was palpable as she pleaded repeatedly "don't let go, Mommy don't let go."
I tripped over her feet several times and nearly fell, bike and all, for another few. When my stiff waist and back finally protested enough, I assured her that I would always be close behind her but she would have to continue trying without my assistance.
For her small frame, she was soon exhausted. Her legs hurt and her arms and back were strained, but she never wanted to give up. She just kept going and trying, wobbling around until suddenly, she could.
As I was frantically snapping photos of the monumental moment, I realised that I could not stop smiling. Every time I caught myself grinning like an idiot, I made myself stop smiling only to have the corners of my lips lift automatically up again. So there I was, standing behind her with this big, goofy smile pasted on my face. I was so very proud of her and of the determination and grit she displayed that night.
So here we have her, just succeeding in learning how to cycle. It was an achievement unlocked. A new milestone. A proud mama moment. A start to night cycles as a family; something that Papa had always wanted to do.
Little L will be going places.
