Teaching Ben to Ride

Last updated: Sun, 04 May 2008 13:07:00 GMT

I felt as though my heart might burst, though whether through pride or cardiovascular exertion I wasn't quite sure.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at riding his new motorbike around the garden, Ben showed little interest. The bike's slightly too tall for him. My fault. I bought him something he'd grow into, forgetting the fear engendered by the weight of the machine, and how hard it is when your feet can barely touch the ground. His mother learned basic motorcycle skills on the front lawn, so I tried to teach him the same, not thinking about how the surge of power might scare, the looming trees might daunt. No wonder he didn't take to it.

We needed to be out of the house this weekend, and we asked Ben if he'd like to take his bike to the beach. He was a little reluctant, but decided that he would, without any pressure. He's had enough pressure, and we know that surest way to make a chore out of something fun is to force someone to do it.

It took him about fifteen minutes. Probably less. Within the first five I was jogging along behind him, pulling the bike upright every ten metres or so, while he learned to correct. Once I'd realised that half of the problem was that I wasn't letting the bike fall over, there was no stopping him. Every time the bike looked like it was going to go, he corrected it and kept merrily on. After that, I was just running along beside him, whooping between gasps for breath.

Despite my belief that his achievements are truly his own, that I can't claim ownership of the things that he does, I couldn't help but tell him how proud of him I was afterwards. I don't want him to think that he has to achieve these things to make me happy, but I can't not tell him that they do.

Way to go, little fella! You did that all by yourself.