So apparently gravity is the weakest of the four fundamental forces that govern all interactions of matter on earth. Blah, blah, blah, electromagnetism, blah, blah, unifying string theory, blah, blah, blah. But everyone loves Newton and his falling apple, so gravity remains the most popular of the forces (social scientists love to relegate hard science to a popularity contest). Gravity is also great because it's key to one of the best television shows ever: Wipeout. Without gravity, nobody is wiping out. Those two guys and the cute girl have no one to poke fun at or laugh about. They owe their careers to gravity. Although, with or without gravity John Anderson is a great sportscaster. John Henson on Talk Soup, however, would have gone nowhere without gravity.
Ava is not the weakest of the four fundamental forces that govern all interactions of people in our home. And after her feat last week, if she was a fundamental force, gravity would slip to fifth place. After 18 months riding this around, I thought it was time to test her skills on a real bike. Ava never had training wheels (or as our British friends like to say, 'stabilisers') and I was curious to see what would happen when her feet hit pedals. I was Don King. In the blue corner was Ava. In the red corner, gravity. I put her on a little bike, held the seat, and told her to start pedaling. I let go. She began pedaling. Gravity didn't stand a chance. 5 seconds into the first round, KO. She arrived at the end of the driveway and while I was screaming at her to apply the brakes (I forgot to teach her that minor detail) she simply whipped the bike a full 180 and came back at me. She smiled. I smiled. Gravity slumped into the corner. Like Rocky, without Mickey Goldmill to cut him.
If only as parents we could outwit all forces our children will face. Ava learned how to beat gravity without knowingly dealing with it. Stabilisers would have clued her into the danger of hurling herself along on a pile of metal held up by two cheap plastic wheels. She would have learned to ride on two wheels eventually, but it would have required falling; and me running along with her; and, if she was like Zoe, running into a pole...twice (she had a wide open field, and yet was drawn to the pole like a moth to the flame). Instead, she learned that once she got going fast enough on the Strider, she could pick her feet up off the ground, and she would continue along on a steady line. It was natural. And when we raised the stakes, when she actually had to keep her feet off the ground at all times, she killed it. "Hey, this feels different, but I know how to do it. It's somehow familiar. No sweat."
The lesson may be that stabilizing is not the answer; each force or pressure children will inevitably face can be trained for upon an equivalent 'Strider.' While not all forces are as constant or predictable as gravity, some are close. And whether they take the form of mean 'friends,' bad boys, or life in general, what a victory if the child can say, when the time comes, "Hey, this feels different, but I know how to do it. It's somehow familiar. No sweat." It requires an understanding of principles that underlie unpleasant behaviors and events, but surely it's possible to get there. And even if they fall*, they'll know that they can get back up, and ride on.
* two days after Ava started riding a real bike, I was at the park telling some friends about her new skill while Ava whizzed around on the tennis court (all of which was probably just thinly-veiled self-congratulations. "Our 4 year old can ride a real bike! Do you know what that says about us as parents!?"). Within 5 seconds of extolling the virtues of the Strider (aka, our parenting ability), Ava flew off the bike and landed like a helpless Dolphin in the tennis net. The bleeding was minimal, but was enough to elicit some hysterics. I walked the bike home that night, my self-satisfaction out-smugged by that smarmy yet resilient bastard in the red corner.
