This week, Corban decided he was ready to ride his bike without training wheels. He was actually ready at the end of last summer, but we didn't rush him. There was a sense of security he felt with them attached. But when they came off on Sunday, he was elated. He was ready. With his dad running behind the bike and holding onto the seat, you could see in Corban’s face the moment he acknowledged and embraced the commitment, that point of no return. He dove into this new experience with glee!
I had tears in my eyes. I was so happy for him, so proud of this deliberate step of his. But this is the last of my children I’ll watch give up training wheels. There is a realization that certain things are behind me for good now, and that leaves me a little sad and joyful at the same time. As I contemplated my surprise tears on this occasion, I thought about things in my life I may be holding onto, my own training wheels, things that provide comfort and security like a safety net, allowing me to try things out without ever really committing, caught between the dream of action and fear of failure.
Could I dare to take off my training wheels? Could I do it with as much joy and excitement as Corban had? Passivity makes no demands of me. The world is full of endless possibilities there for the taking. That world is my stage, and I can chose to give the performance of a lifetime or sit in the audience. As I watch my son’s wild and exhilarating bike ride, I recommit to the ride of my life and launch forth gleefully on two wheels.