There was a group of kids riding their bikes past our driveway. Their ages ranged and sizes varied, but they had pedals in common. Handlebars glistening with the sun. It’s a scene that never seems to change. Two wheels and a child who believes they can fly like the wind. No matter the era, there’s just something about a kid and his bike.
Jedi has a bike that was handed down from his nephew. He won’t go anywhere near it. Last year, J made a few feeble attempts to teach him how to ride. He was wobbly and petrified and practically drowning the evil in holy water and garlic.
I was glancing out the window watching this group of kids as they passed with Jedi by my side, relishing in a brief interlude of childhood nostalgia.
“You see those kids? That should be you”, I said to Jedi.
“Nuh-uh, not me!”, he declined.
“Riding a bike is fun. You really need to give it a try”, I tried to enforce.
“No it’s not! Not for me!” He wasn’t giving up.
“Yes, for you, too.”
“No, not for me. I’ll fall down and get run over by a car!”
On the other hand, maybe bicycles just aren’t his thing. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath on skateboarding, either.