If you have read my recent posts, you know that I have been discussing my family’s departure from Hawaii on our way to Tacoma enroute to North Dakota and the East Coast. I was ultimately headed to the East Coast to Fort Lee, Virginia to attend the Logistics Executive Development Course. The stops in Tacoma and North Dakota were to visit relatives. That reminds me, I should probably tell you my theory of relatives sometime. Not now, but some other time. See, Einstein had his theory of relativity. Well, my theory is kinda like that. Only, my theory is about relatives. Kinda neat, huh? Oh yeah, the stop in North Dakota was also to retrieve my red Chevy van. Well, I have talked about our journey across the United States to get to Fort Lee, Virginia. We had some interesting exploits along the way and you can read about those exploits in some of my recent posts. After arriving at Fort Lee, Virginia, I spent some time in my most recent posts talking about finding a place to live. I mentioned in one post that we found a place in a trailer park in Petersburg. And I mentioned in that post my sentiments about the manager of that trailer park. But my family and I decided not to let that pickup driving, backwoods dwelling, varmint hunting, shotgun hauling trailer park manager interfere with our ability to get along and adapt to our new environment. Even though we were treated as if we were “other-colored” people, we learn to improvise, overcome and adapt. My son was getting along just fine and playing with his friends and time moved on. Well, as I said, time moved on. We all got integrated into life at Petersburg and Fort Lee. During that summer, I took up another time-honored rite of passage with my son. That time honored rite of passage was to teach my son how to ride a two wheeled bicycle. The plan was to wean him off of training wheels and teach him how to ride a bicycle using only two wheels. That was the plan. It’s a time honored rite of passage that every dad goes through with his son. Well, I say that it’s a time-honored passage for every dad and son, but that is not exactly true. You see, my old man never taught me how to ride a bike. Oh hell no. As a matter of fact, that sonofabitch never had nothing to do with me, other than to make me work. And my parents never bought me my first bike or any bike for that matter. Oh hell no. I got my first bike as a rescue bike out of the local junkyard. And I put that bike together using parts from several different bikes to make one good bike. And no, that sucker didn’t have any training wheels. I didn’t know what training wheels were. I just had to get on the bike and scoot along until I could learn to balance myself. Oh, I fell plenty. And I tipped over more than I stayed upright at first. But soon I learned how to ride a two wheeled bicycle. Yes. I got my share of scrapes and bruises along the way. Cuz you see, I learned how to ride on a gravel road (alias: dirt road). When I decided to teach my son how to ride a bicycle without training wheels, I didn’t think too much about it. I had seen it done once or twice on TV. Now, I don’t claim to be an expert on training somebody to ride a bicycle without training wheels. In fact, I don’t even claim to be good at training somebody to ride a bicycle without training wheels. But I figured that I could get the job done. And get the job done, I did. Did I do a perfect job? Well, not exactly. Did I do a great job? Well, not exactly. Did I do a good job? Well, it depends on who you talk to. I happen to think that I did a great job. Of course, that’s my opinion. Others, including my son, may have their own opinion, which may not agree with my opinion. See, my approach to that time honored tradition was to get my son seated on the bike and to give the bike a push and to have him start pedaling and to let him go. Then, I would stand back on the grass with my arms crossed and watch him go. Okay. That was my technique. I didn’t say it was perfect. I didn’t claim that it was an exact science. But my son seemed to be an expert. Every damn time that I got him going, he would ride a few feet and then he would fall over into the dirt. Of course, after you do this over and over and over for a couple of hours, you are bound to wind up with a few scrapes, scratches, and bruises. It’s a part of that rite of passage, right? Well, my son totally disagreed with me. A few years later (now, this is hindsight speaking with 20/20 vision, mind you), my son told me that a good dad would have pushed his son and ran along beside him, holding the bike up while the son pedaled the bike and learned how to ride the bike. Okay. I can see where that might be an improvement to my technique. But like I say, that’s hindsight speaking. Nobody had ever done that for me, so I didn’t have the benefit of learning that technique from somebody else. I had to implement a technique and learn it at the same time. Did my son learn how to ride a bike? Ultimately, yes, he did. Did my technique do the job? Yes, it did. Was it perfect? Well… But it got the job done. Did he suffer more scrapes and bruises than he needed to? Possibly. But hey, it’s all a part of learning. In the Army, they call that good training. Of course, he didn’t want to hear that bullshit from his old man. But he did learn how to ride a two wheeled bicycle that summer and it only cost him a few minor exercises in futility, and that was a small price to pay in comparison to all the aggravation he had caused me over the years.
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