Words Cassidy Nunn
Photo Nunn Other Photography
“I’m having a big girl summer,” my five-and-a-half-year-old daughter stated as she kicked her legs out in front of her on the swing and then tucked them back in, propelling herself higher and higher on the playground swing set. “I learned to pump on the swings with no more push starts and I can ride my bike with no training wheels!” She beamed proudly as I leaned against the swing set, my job of pushing the swing suddenly no longer needed.
This summer marked several of these milestone moments for my daughter. Learning to ride a bike is a core memory from my own childhood, and I think it’s one that many of us remember vividly. I can still so clearly see the day my dad decided the training wheels were coming off my bike. I remember my nervousness, his steady hand calmly holding the back seat while I wobbled and corrected, slowly finding my balance as he gently encouraged me. The pavement of our back lane was scattered with tiny stones that threatened to trip up my bike at any wrong turn; my handlebar streamers soared beside me as I gained speed, the pedals spinning faster as my legs became more confident in their rhythm. Then the moment when I snuck a glance back and saw my dad far in the distance, that gut wrenching second of realization – I’d actually been pedalling on my own for quite some time!
My older daughter started her bike riding journey on an adorable, tiny toddler bike that she rode inside our house constantly. Eventually she upgraded to a strider bike and she’d fly up and down our cul-de-sac, little legs propelling her along at impressive speeds. Last year she was finally tall enough for a hand-me-down bike with training wheels, and this summer she decided on her own after observing her older friend learning to ride her two-wheeler that it was time to ditch the training wheels once and for all.
I had rosy visions of teaching her to ride it just like my dad had taught me. After all, I had spent the entirety of my Grade 12 summer teaching bike camps to kids, but this didn’t mean anything to her and I was met with a fierce determination that she’d do it on her own. She pushed away any attempts of help and insisted on continuing to run along rather than use the pedals, riding it like a strider bike. My husband tried as well and was met with the same fierce rejection, and when her uncle – who was a professional mountain biker – came for a visit, we thought for sure he’d be the one to finally help her meet this milestone. But no, she was still adamant that she’d do it her own way.
As a parent, it’s always difficult to watch your child struggle, to not jump in and help them, or show them an easier way. But sometimes, as I’m learning, the struggle is where the most important learning happens. I admire her tenacity, her dedication to figuring it out on her own, which she did, as soon as we finally stepped back and allowed her the space for trial and error without our feedback. She developed her own style of using her feet to run with it like a strider bike, and then once she’d reached a fast enough speed she’d swing her feet onto the pedals and off she’d go. It might not be the most traditional or technically effective method to ride a bike, but it works for her. Biking has offered her a new sense of independence, freedom and a boost in confidence. Summer nights were spent riding in circles at the end of our cul-de-sac, connecting with friends for neighbourhood bike rides and bringing her bike on any and all weekend adventures.
I’m continually humbled in this parenting journey, pausing to reflect on my own childhood and then learning to allow hers to unfold in its own beautiful way. I wonder if one day she’ll remember this milestone moment of learning to bike on her own and remember how her own efforts and resilience paid off. And that her parents were still there, cheering her on.
