that time at the park when the wheels came undone

We’ve never really lived in a house with a concrete driveway that leant itself to safe bike riding for children.

Therefore, the kids have always been late comers to the biking world.

Piper Finnian still needs training wheels.

And that’s alright with me.

Recently, Bergen outgrew his bike and we realized it was a good fit for Piper.

I bought some training wheels.

Universal, the bag side.

Fits any bike, the instructions read.

With the training wheels attached and the bikes painstakingly crammed in the back of the Suburban, we drove to a large parking lot to practice before trying to hit the trail together.

Otto is grinning and riding and having a great time.

“Mom – this is so much fun!”

Piper is thrilled and ecstatic to have her turn with wheels for the first time.

“I love it, Mom!”

Bergen is jetting around and laughing and making paths and figure eights.

“Follow me,” he calls.

I man handle my new-to-me hand-me-down cruiser bike out of the back, suffering only minor injuries as the handle bars attack my forehead when the bike slides from the vehicle.

I love the wide seat and the lack of gears and I follow the kids around the parking lot with a big smile.

Seconds pass.

Just seconds, ya’ll.

And then.

One training wheel bends backwards.

The other training wheel literally careens off.

Otto tries to help.

Bergen tries to help.

I try to help.

The chain pops off.

I contemplate leaving the entire wreckage right there in the parking lot.  Errant training wheels.  Broken chain.  Dented bike.

And that’s really what I want to do.

Cuss and run.

Cuss and run, my friends.

I have always been a fan of seeing big ideas reflected in trivial matters.

And right there, in that parking lot, I couldn’t help but think that the wheels literally flying off the bike looks a lot like my own life right now.

Kind of out of control.

A sort of wreckage spilled on a sidewalk.

Dented and used up and worn out.

Disappointing.

The opposite of the fun time I had imagined.

Cuss and run – right?

So a couple kids and I are standing in a parking lot as twilight approaches.

Bike pieces littering the black top.

And there’s a real choice to make.

A direction, you know.

I look at the face of this girl to whom I gave birth.  This empathetic freckle-faced dramatic human child I get to call my own.

I plop down on the pavement beside her.

“This stinks,” I tell her.

“Like – this really stinks.”

She nods her head.  Thinks about crying – I can see it at the edges of her eyes and the corners of her mouth.

But she kind of grins a little too.

And I just laugh.  “This is the worst!”

Piper laughs too.  The kind of laugh that is hard won.  A decision.

Otto gathers the training wheels.  Bergen hoists the chainless piece of metal back into the Suburban.

“How about Piper gets to pick tonight’s dessert?” the big brother suggests.

And there was no cussing and no running.

We just gathered our bits and our parts and we had a couple of donuts and some chocolate milk and headed home.  Together.