Everett has learned– really and truly– to ride his bike. He began riding it without training wheels a year ago, but has always felt Very Nervous about it, only riding in the most absolutely level of circumstances. Just before The Big Drop, we went on a long ride on the Tobacco Trail, and he was nervous but determined. His efforts were seriously hampered by his bicycle chain, which came loose every ten minutes or so, making our long ride even longer.
But this week– just Wednesday morning, after breakfast, he and William decided to go out and ride bikes. There remains a mulch pile at the top of the driveway, and this has begun to have something like a trail in it, where the neighborhood boys have been riding their bikes. The pile enables them to “get air,” as they call it, which means that, for a split second after going over the mulch trail, they perceive themselves to be airborne. Which they are, and I know because I’ve watched. But it’s a split second– just a little split, a very little split of a second. Maybe more of a sliver.
For a beginner, riding bikes on our street has a deceptive allure. It seems level enough, but really is not. It is raked down towards our house and is nothing like smooth, covered instead by welts and hollows that are nearly undetectable with the eye but Very Apparent to the novice on his two-wheeler.
Nonetheless, something (was it the new helmet?) made Everett decide on Wednesday that it was Time, and out he went. And moments later, from Emma Grace’s bedroom window, I saw him pedalling along, avoiding the welts and hollows, braking a lot, going slowly, and coming Nowhere Near the mulch pile.
They rode all morning, and much of the afternoon. William came in for band-aids, but Everett, never falling, came in for Gatorade. He is very pleased with himself, and should be.
We were leaving the pool yesterday afternoon when William directed my attention across the parking lot.
“See that girl over there in the pink bathing suit?”
“Yes,” I said.
“She likes me,” he said.
Hmmm, I think. And I think four more things: 1) Of course she likes you. She would be Out of Her Mind not to like you. Who else could there possibly be to like when you, Oh My Son, are on the scene? 2) How does he know she likes him? 3) Wait: What is a child that age doing liking a boy William’s age? Why is this even a topic of conversation? Why can’t we all just play Marco Polo? 4) I had a serious crush on Todd Grehl when I was in third grade.
I choose one thing.
“How do you know she likes you?”
“Because she tries not to like me. That’s what girls do.”
Is that what girls do? Is it? Is that what I do? I mean, did? Where did he gain this insight? With whom did he converse on this subject? Between digging what holes? And having which diving contests? Isn’t he 8???
I don’t remember what I said, but I hope it was something Pleasant and Constructive, Edifying and Helpful.
I bet it was. Don’t you think it was? Probably? I mean, in all likelihood, it was…. Right?
