Teaching Alana to Drive or 'My Fair Lady'

        Most of you don't know her, but at 5 and 1/2 she's bright as the blush on a cherry and smart as a new pair of shoes. There is nothing she cannot pick up easily which has taught me to watch what I say. Arms and legs always in motion, she is a kinetic engine, a whirlwind without quietus. With this ready facility of aptness and quickness of mind it made me wonder why she hadn't learned to ride a bicycle yet. Determining to act, I availed myself of the pretty princess bike sitting over at her Mom's house, training wheel equipped, with basket and princess purse, thinking how ultimately satisfying it would be to help her along life's road.

             Of course human nature is always surprising and small packages don't necessarily have less, in fact per pound, probably more. Beginning with qualified enthusiasm we rolled out of the garage and down the driveway, an advent of remarkable success. Spirits soared with confidence as we passed one house, then two. I should point out right here that Grandma is never more than a micron off the back of the seat and there is a greater danger of another ice age occuring than Alana actually reaching the ground if she falls.

           Of course all this leads, inevitably to a growing sense of autonomy and she grows uneasily certain of her ability and the predictable 'I can do it myself', which, of course, she can't. Well, she needs help going back up the incline to the garage, little legs too unskilled with the machine to push with the necessary force v. resistance, so Papa covertly adds force.

         Still, riding a bike requires a surprising amount of coordination. After you know how you never think about it but until you do........
          I wonder who will teach her to drive a short ten years down the road when she has a learner's permit to ram about in whatever electric thing they'll be driving then? Not me, I suppose, probably Daddy - I've done my time, taught a daughter (who insisted on driving a stick - from whatever unnecessary part of Dante's hell that comes from). I am certain of this, her Grandmother and I will be no less concerned about her driving around ten years anon, than we are about her riding unsteadily down our little side street now.

I know you understand when I say, letting go of the back of that seat is a really hard thing to do and yet, it seems, that letting go reluctantly is a thing we do all along the way. So, if all of this makes me seem like a silly old get - I stand convicted, but I turn it back and challenge you, the ones that have lived a while, seen some things - just YOU try letting go.