A good deal of my childhood was spent attached to the banana seat of my emerald green bike. The one with the white plastic basket adorned with equally plastic flowers. That bike and I covered a lot of real estate back in the day.
My girls have bikes, but they don’t get as much of a workout, especially since our neighborhood is replete with crazed drivers and a few local pedophiles.
Over the weekend Fiddledaddy decided he was going to teach his son to ride his nice shiny Huffy bike. This is the same son who is now 7 1/2 years old.
There are no training wheels on this bike. The last bike that he never learned how to ride had the training wheels. This was the big boy bike.
I learned later about the bike lesson so I asked, “How did it go?”
Since I saw no carnage on the driveway when I had returned home, I hoped for the best.
Fiddledaddy answered, “He has outgrown the bike.”
Evidently, the child’s knees were somewhere up under his chin, making pedaling impossible. And turning even less likely.
And so if you’re keeping score, like I am, that would be the THIRD bike that the child has outgrown before he has ever learned to ride.
Epic parental fail.
I’m thinking we’ll just hold out a few years and teach him how to drive.
And he can just deal with his disappointment in therapy.