My youth was misspent, but not on booze and fresh young fellows.
…
Ha.
HAHAHA!
OK OK but I am not going to talk about that misspent section of my youth. I’m going to tell you something that will probably make you feel a lot better about yourself. A lot.
I could not ride a bike without training wheels until I was six.
Now some of you may be murmuring comforting words about late-blooming etc. Let me stop you right there.
The bike training sans-training wheels commenced when I was four.
That’s right, it took me two years to learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Granted, we practiced mostly in the spring, so it’s not as if it was a full two years. And when I say “we” I am referring to my nearly sainted parents. And when I say “nearly sainted” I mean they failed to reach sainthood on account of the nightly arm-wrestling that would go on about who was going to take the kid out for the exercise in failure. The kid who, between blurting false yet incriminating statements to the family doctor, having a propensity for removing her pants at inopportune times, and being two years into learning something that is so easy that there is a saying about how you never forget how to do it, they were beginning to suspect was the defective one. The familial shame brought on by the child who could not stay upright was so great that my parents would take me up to the parking lot of a local fort, where they then compounded what was obviously some sort of inner ear issue with the uneven terrain of a gravel parking lot.
Uneven, and mighty uncomfortable to land on like a little sack of shit, every time they let go of the bike.
I have no recollection of the day I learned to ride a bike – no memory of this victory. No footage in my head to look back upon, recalling how I raised my arms aloft and biked down the street to victory. My only clear memory of these two years is a frozen image of a Mexican standoff.
Yeah I wish my bike was that cool. But my shirt was.
Feel better about yourself? I thought you might.
I relate to this post so well!! Ah, if only I was six when I learned how to ride a bike… but no I was 7, yes, 7! My wonderful super achieving twin sister of course learned fairly soon after we received the bikes on our fifth birthday. If I had learned when she did I would not have the memory of my grandfather riding my bike to show me how it was done. He was a short very stout man, so the image still makes me laugh!
Did you learn to rollerskate? Bikes weren’t a problem for me but I never had the bojangles for rollerskating.
Oinks – kids here are slapped into skates about the time they learn to walk so roller skates were easy.
Though I am unsure if I have bojangles…
Oh well then kudos to you, as far as I’m concerned. Skates are where the real skill lays.
But saying that to a Canadian kid is like saying “Congrats on that fancy English Accent you learned, Oinks.”
Nice try! But that wouldn’t be so implausible if I had actually developed a decent English accent to replace my old Welsh one. The fact is I haven’t, but a gal can dream of receiving a compliment over my fake accent
[...] took me forever to learn how to ride a bike. Click that link and you can read about the two year crying jag that was me learning how to ride [...]
Funny how I remember that it was the first brand new bike purchased for a family member (must not let 2nd child think she doesn’t receive the new item) and also that we had to hold on to the back even while you rode it with training wheels. After our backs gave out I believe you were forced to ride without the training wheels or your sister could use it!