Not a good day at the bicycle program these past couple of days, and the wife has came home depressed. Sonny just isn’t working those legs of his, and the teenage girls working with him are too timid to push him very hard. My wife keeps poking her head in to find Sonny laying on the floor like he’s going to take a nap, and the three girls standing over him saying things like, “Come on, Sonny, please get up… it’ll be fun!” These girls need to show him who is boss, but they are only first learning that, and it’s slightly aggravating that their education is costing me $225. Meanwhile, there’s one experienced instructor, and she is working almost exclusively with another boy, who started the week screaming non-stop but is now bicycling all over the place — not on two wheels and not by himself, but still. It certainly seems like the success of the program rests on whether or not you get a real teacher or a bunch of well-meaning but ill-prepared volunteers.
Sonny did ask to ride his bicycle the other day after I came home from work — an all but unprecedented event. The teachers at the course told my wife that Sonny actually shouldn’t ride his own bike until after the course is over, and certainly not with training wheels still on. But, really, like I’m going to tell Sonny he’s not allowed to practice. We went out there and I goaded him into bicycling faster than .001 miles per hour, sometimes, pushing down on his knee to give him the idea. We weren’t out there more then fifteen minutes, but he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough.
The choices here seem to be: Keep at it or give up. For now, we choose the first option. We’ll see how I feel a couple of weeks from now.
This weekend: Sonny’s birthday celebration at his grandparents. Somehow, and I don’t entirely see how, he is turning nine years old.