Learning to Ride Without Training Wheels

I don’t remember who “Scott” was. I think he was an in-law of my grandfather or grandmother. Perhaps he was married to my grandfather’s niece or he may have been my grandmother’s cousin’s husband. I do remember that Scott had been to prison. I can’t remember the details of why he’d been there, only that he had.

There is not I lot I can recall about Scott, but one thing is embedded on my memory – he taught me how to ride a bicycle when I was a young child.

My father had tried teaching me to ride but I was still stuck with the training wheels and when Daddy would try to push me away, I would hold on fiercely to his protecting arms. In him, I sought refuge, not freedom. I wanted to hold on to my daddy forever. I didn’t want to fall off the bicycle and get hurt.

The day that Scott and his wife visited my grandparents, for some reason, he began teaching me how to ride the bicycle. My grandparents and parents sat on the front porch, watching him. I took a few falls and got a few bumps and bruises, but with urging from the porch, I got back up again. Finally, when Scott gave me a push, I began pumping the pedals and rode the bicycle.

I didn’t hold to Scott like I did my dad. I didn’t think I would find protection in his arms, like my father gave me.

Scott taught me to ride a bicycle that day, for which I am ever grateful.

Through the years, I learned more and more that my father would be there to protect me, but that I didn’t need to hold so tightly to him. While Scott taught me to ride a bicycle, my father took a frightened little boy, afraid of falling, and taught him balance and put wheels under me.

“Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding.” Proverbs 4:1

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