Our biggest boy took an unsteady first today: first ride on a two-wheeler (plus training wheels). He wasn't very good, but entirely enthusiastic as he careened from one side of the sidewalk to the other. A few of these weaves and waves ended in Dad catching him before his head hit the concrete.
The event took me back to my own memories of a shaky but thrilling ride down a neighborhood street in Las Vegas. I had the spectacular privilege of learning to ride the bike my father rode as a youngster. Of course it had been retrofitted with a sparkly banana seat and painted vanilla yellow because it was the 70s, or at least so early in the 80s that we were still celebrating the 70s. Also unique to my first bike ride was that my grandmother was the one huffing and puffing along side me as I zoomed toward my historic teetering, tottering milestone.
My grandma! Folks, that is just amazing to me.
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