Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33: THE BICYCLE
Oliver was seven when he decided training wheels were for babies.
Michael took the wrench and removed the small wheels from the back of the blue bicycle.
They stood at the top of the slightly sloping driveway.
"Okay," Michael said, holding the back of the seat. "Keep your eyes forward. Don't look at the pedals. I've got you."
Oliver gripped the handlebars, his knuckles white. "Don't let go, Daddy."
"I'm right here," Michael promised.
Oliver started to pedal. The bike wobbled dangerously. Michael jogged alongside him, his hand firmly gripping the seat, keeping his son upright.
They made it to the end of the driveway.
"Again," Oliver demanded, panting.
They tried again. And again.
On the fifth try, Oliver found his balance. His pedaling became smooth. The wobble smoothed out into a straight line.
Michael felt the shift. He knew his son didn't need the stabilizing hand anymore.
In the old days, Michael would have held on too long, terrified of the failure, terrified of the tears if Oliver fell. He would have controlled the ride.
Today, Michael opened his hand.
He let go.
Oliver didn't realize it immediately. He kept pedaling, picking up speed, cruising down the sidewalk under the shade of the oak trees.
"Look, Daddy! I'm doing it!" Oliver yelled over his shoulder.
Michael stood at the end of the driveway, his hands on his hips, watching his son ride away from him.
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"You're doing it, buddy!" Michael shouted back, his chest tight with a fierce, brilliant pride.
Letting go was no longer a symbol of abandonment. It was the ultimate proof of trust.
