So so close

The in-laws came in from South Carolina for a short visit this weekend. As usual, we ate very, very well. They took us out to a superb local restaurant Saturday night. I had a garlic-free pasta dish in a creamy Italian sauce. It was delicious – thick linguini with lots of shrimp, scallops, clams, lobster, and some unidentified fish meat. My mouth is watering now, just writing about it. Sunday they made us fresh salads with rotisserie chicken for lunch followed by a juicy steak with potaters, broccoli, and carrots for dinner later that night. Now my stomach’s growling.

Truth is, my daughters entrance them.

Unfortunately, since they live 850 miles south of us, we see them but two or three times a year. We alternate Christmases and Thanksgivings driving down (flying with the little ones and all our luggage is simply impossible), and we’ll drive down around the fourth of July. Last year it was just the wife and the girls; this year I went down, my first summer in Hilton Head. And usually around January they’ll fly up to jaunt about New York City, and will stop by for a visit.

A Columbus Day weekend visit is a first. I think there will be more short visits up north for them, for they miss Little One and Patch so.

It’s good for us. I just put the child seats in their rental car, and they take the girls with them wherever they go. Their hotel, Church, the store. It gives me and C a little break.

Sunday, however, we all piled into the SUVs and drove down to a park next town over. I packed the wagon and the bicycle, and the bicycle is now training-wheel free. The park has a three-quarter mile paved loop, and we walked it while peewee football games went on in the center. The game plan was to have Little One finally ride that bike under her own power and volition.

Little One is so, so close to riding that bicycle. We did one full circuit of the loop coaching her, trotting next to her with a hand on a handle, lowering the seat, teaching her how to stop by kicking out a leg and gently tipping the bicycle over. Despite all this, though, she didn’t really officially for-the-record-book ride that bike under her own power.

There’s two philosophies at work here. My wife and her mother instructed Little One in this and that, that and this, explaining patiently how to stay centered and balanced, what to do in case she gets into trouble, why she needs to keep pedaling to stay upright. They taught her little exercises like walking on her toes on her bike to learn some fundamental balance. They want her reassured and thinking about every step of the process.

A month ago, during our last bicycle excursion in her school parking lot, I ran with her, balanced on her bike and pedaling, about fifty yards and then let go. She’d go as long as she didn’t realize I wasn’t there any more. Then she’d careen and wipe out. I figure that sooner or later something would just click in her mind and she’d attain bicycling satori.

Now, I can understand what my wife and mother-in-law were going for. And it is beneficial, and probably will help her “click” and suddenly know how to ride a bike. You need to have a minimal comfort zone with anything before you can expect to master it.

But, of course, you don’t learn how to, say, swim, by reading a book about it or attending a lecture by Michael Phelps. No, you jump into the deep end of the pool and begin the physical mechanics of swimming. In the marine corps, if you’re unfortunate enough to have some type of water phobia, guess what? They toss you in anyway. Now, don’t get the impression that I interact with my daughter like a drill sergeant with a new recruit. I am, however, in the minority when I try to explain this philosophy of trial-by-fire to my relatives.

So there was a compromise that Sunday afternoon. After all their coaching and moral support, it was I, LE, Recovering Hopper, unemployed bookkeeper slash bibliophile with a lingering lung-and-heart issue, who ran next to my Little One, my hand gently on the end of her seat, steadying her, balancing her, building up speed and confidence and then – then I would quietly let go, and she would sail forward, tottering, full of that wide-eyed wonder and attention to the present moment Zen monks strive to communicate.

Then, she’d realize I wasn’t holding on, and she’d immediately crash.

So, so close …