My six year old son likes to ride his bike. He knows how far along our neighborhood's loop he can ride before turning back. He likes to start by our front porch where the sidewalk is at it's highest and get a good run. He loves his red, white, and blue bell that makes that classic "duh ling, duh luh ling" sound (thanks go to my wife for helping me with the spelling of "duh ling"). And I think he likes the sense of freedom and independence he gets (the sort of feeling you and I might get in a Mustang convertible). (Wow, all this paragraph needs is a choir to hum "The Battle Hymn of the Republic.")
My daughters (ages 2 and 4) envy his ways of the bike. When my son asks if he can ride his bike I almost always let him. And when I let him his sisters almost always ask, "Dad, can you help me ride my bike?" and "Dad, can you help me ride my sister's bike?" (My youngest doesn't actually have a bike.) And when the girls ask I am almost always in the middle of something that makes me feel too busy. And so I almost always turn them down.
Well, on Sunday (August 31) I happened to be driving with my daughters to return some movies we had rented. (Get ready for unnecessary details...) They thought I should go to the library. (Here comes one...) Our library is closed Sundays in August. So they asked about Monday. And Monday was Labor Day, so of course the library would be closed. (And now back to relevancy...) "What's Labor Day?" How do you explain that to a four year old girl and her two year old sister? "It's a day when people cook out." Sooo, we began to plan a picnic. And because my girls envy my son's ways of the bike. I promised we would bring the bikes on our picnic.
We went to a park with an exceptional playground. We brought bubbles for blowing, a football for tossing, and a paper table cloth to decorate with crayons. The kids loved the playground, but the bike was the thing, so they asked me to get out the bikes. I turned my son loose on his and got my four year old ready for a turn on hers. "Look ahead so you know where to steer." "Pedal backwards when you want to stop." And then she was done with her turn. And her two year old sister went at it. And after a second turn for each of them it was all over. And five minutes of my life had passed. When they were done I thought "Is that all?" It seemed it took more time to load and unload the bikes than they spent on the bike. I said, "Are you done?" "Yeah, but it was fun." (I guess my four year old sensed my need for some sort of affirmation at that point.) And back to the playground they went.
Life Lesson: I make parenting a lot more difficult than it has to be. Give the kids 5 minutes.
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