Everyday the opportunity exists to change your life. –Jill A. Davis
Jordan can ride a bike! My four and a half year old can ride by himself, turn the bike around the corner, slow down, break and stop!
Let me back up the story. The day after the fourth of July, I was on the elliptical machine tucked in the corner of my laundry room trying to work off home-made ice-cream from the night before. I did not know Jordan was behind me as I was in the trance of pedaling. Suddenly I heard his cry and scream all combined as one. I had struck his little foot. I was certain it was broke. I know my heart was to see him in such pain. He spent the rest of the day on the couch with ice and hugs from mom.
We went to the doctor for x-rays and thankfully nothing was broken. The doctor said it was very badly bruised.
The day after he got hurt, Jordan told me, “Mom, you can never ever ever exercise again!”
I didn’t blame him.
Tears followed as he continued, “Because now I can’t ride my bike!”
For Jordan, not riding his bike was more devastating than his hurting foot. He woke up each morning ready to practice riding his cool bike with scraped-up green paint and no training wheels. It was a three-dollar bargain that I had found for him at the beginning of summer on a garage sale.
I didn’t have an answer. Why is it that whatever hurts my children seems to hurt me more?
Jordan held out for three days and then told me Tuesday morning, “I’m just gonna go out and look at my bike.”
I guess one has to wear a helmet to “look at a bike.” At least this is how I found Jordan in the garage—helmet secured--he was looking at me with longing eyes.
“I’m just gonna try my bike a little bit,” he told me.
My eyebrows raised as I peered at his bandaged foot. But, I didn't say thing.
And that’s what he did. He tried a little bit. That’s all it took and he was off--biking down the road. It was almost as if Shawn were running beside him. I couldn’t keep up. I tried to run along as he balanced, but he sped ahead. I watched as he cautiously turned the corner on his bike and started riding towards me. I was surprised he hadn't just toppled over. I called after him to slow down as a way to stop. He pedaled onto the grass figuring it out for himself. A couple more tries and he had the break movement down as well. I could see the satisfaction in his eyes. I could feel it in my own.
I didn’t know how I would do some of these things without Shawn—like teaching my kids to ride a bike or go camping or drive a car. And now I know. It’s little by little. Or like Jordan would say, “I’m just gonna try a little bit."
