Gonna take a sentimental journey
May. 16th, 2005 12:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
There are different kinds of rites of passages; the kind that are long steeped in tradition, and you can mentally prepare for, like your child's first step, his first day of Kindergarten, graduations, etc. You know those are the biggies, you expect them to be sentimental, or touching, and you prepare accordingly. Then there are the more subtle ones, like the first time your son insists on going into the boy's bathroom, or wants to pick out his own clothes to wear. You don't really see those coming, and when they do you are struck with the fact that your baby has taken another step towards growing up.
Then there are ones that fall kind of in the middle; the moments that you know are important, but just didn't think to prepare yourself for.
I may have mentioned that Charlie's been wanting the training wheels off his bike ever since he saw that his best friend could ride a two-wheeler. A couple of weeks ago, my husband took the training wheels off, but Charlie got frustrated when he wasn't immediately able to ride his bike like a pro. (He doesn't like to do things unless he can do them right)
However, this Saturday the three of us walked to a parking lot, and after lots of help from his Daddy as well as some yelling at his bicycle for 'making' him fall, Charlie began to get the hang of it. By Sunday he was really getting steady and was able to start without needing a push, and turn in circles without falling down.
He was proud, and we were proud, and I took about a million photos, and it wasn't until a bit later did it occur to me that riding a two-wheeled bicycle is a serious rite of passage. It is mobility without your mommy, it expands your horizons, it is a small but significant step toward independence.
The 'without training wheels' is important, too. When you think about it, there is no real reason why a person couldn't bicycle their entire life with those extra wheels, but we need to remove them. They are, possibly, symbolic of that step toward freedom and independence; a non-verbal statement that says "I can do this alone".
So there I was, caught in a signifant moment without being fully prepared, so, as Charlie rode a bicycle, his face a picture of joy and triumph, I cheered him on and snapped photos and cried, just a little, as I watched my little boy take his first real step away from me.
Then there are ones that fall kind of in the middle; the moments that you know are important, but just didn't think to prepare yourself for.
I may have mentioned that Charlie's been wanting the training wheels off his bike ever since he saw that his best friend could ride a two-wheeler. A couple of weeks ago, my husband took the training wheels off, but Charlie got frustrated when he wasn't immediately able to ride his bike like a pro. (He doesn't like to do things unless he can do them right)
However, this Saturday the three of us walked to a parking lot, and after lots of help from his Daddy as well as some yelling at his bicycle for 'making' him fall, Charlie began to get the hang of it. By Sunday he was really getting steady and was able to start without needing a push, and turn in circles without falling down.
He was proud, and we were proud, and I took about a million photos, and it wasn't until a bit later did it occur to me that riding a two-wheeled bicycle is a serious rite of passage. It is mobility without your mommy, it expands your horizons, it is a small but significant step toward independence.
The 'without training wheels' is important, too. When you think about it, there is no real reason why a person couldn't bicycle their entire life with those extra wheels, but we need to remove them. They are, possibly, symbolic of that step toward freedom and independence; a non-verbal statement that says "I can do this alone".
So there I was, caught in a signifant moment without being fully prepared, so, as Charlie rode a bicycle, his face a picture of joy and triumph, I cheered him on and snapped photos and cried, just a little, as I watched my little boy take his first real step away from me.