Like Riding a Bike

Newsletter 2024-05-02

I’m always open to new and exciting ways to traumatize my children, but the old methods are still the best. That proved to be the case this week when I taught my nine-year-old, Lucy, how to ride a bike. It was far past time for her to learn, but that wasn’t my fault. Okay, it was somewhat my fault. As the powerless figurehead of this household, I bear somewhere between partial and total responsibility for everything that goes wrong while getting no credit for anything that goes right. It’s like being a politician from the party you don’t support. Or, if you’re religious, it’s the opposite of being a patron saint. I know many Catholics who thank St. Anthony for helping them find their car keys but none who blame him for hiding them in the first place. Maybe he was bored and wanted to drum up some business. Always tip your local miracle worker.

I taught my oldest two girls how to ride their bikes, and they in turn taught my youngest. Lucy, however, fell through the cracks. Her sisters and I tried to teach her on separate occasions, but the lessons didn’t stick. Lucy possesses a unique blend of meekness and anger that makes her impossible to budge if she doesn’t want to. She remains my only daughter to ever rage vomit, which was one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. I put it up there with Carrie lighting people on fire with her mind. Rather than poking the bear, I didn’t push the bike issue with Lucy, for both her safety and mine. That changed Sunday when circumstances and parental guilt forced me to stop neglecting my dad duties. I decided I was going to teach her to ride, whether she wanted to or not. And, reader, she did NOT. The result was perhaps the biggest scene we’ve ever caused outdoors where the neighbors could see us. Here’s what you missed out on if you don’t live on this block.