At the start of summer,
we took the training wheels off.
We warned our six-year-old
that he was likely to wobble and weave,
perhaps even fall,
but that daddy would be right behind him.
He strapped on his helmet,
pushed off with his feet,
and left his daddy in the dust.
Our boy took off on his two-wheeler,
pedals-a-blur,
as I stood dumbfounded
in the driveway.
Fast forward to the end of the summer,
and I feel like I’m in the same spot.
Today he and his daddy rode all the way
to Moma and Papa’s house;
we weren’t sure his little legs could handle
a full hour of pedaling on dirt paths.
But, sure enough,
he rode like a champ.
I drove to pick them up
and my heart melted
at the sight of their bikes
parked in the driveway,
little wheel tucked under the big wheel,
already eager
for another great adventure
side-by-side.
