Z’s little brother G isn’t my son, but his father has never been in his life, so I fill the role on occasion. Arriving at X’s exceedingly early for Thanksgiving dinner today left G and I stranded alone downstairs with the beautiful California sun shining outside, so I decided it was time to retry his bicycle. Z was more interested in helping her Mom prep dinner then getting some exercise and sunshine, so it was just me and him.
It’s apparently been over a year since I taught G how to ride and he managed to poop out that time just before getting the hang of it, so I didn’t have high hopes. Things were very rough at first and he seemed to be struggling to even pedal at first. But once I realized his tires were all but flat and we took a quick detour to the gas station for air we were rolling much smoother.
We did a couple laps around the parking lot behind their apartment and G seemed to have everything but confidence, so I let him go. It only took him about a half a lap solo to realize he actually knew how to ride, which was a good thing because running those laps along with him was proof that I’m still carrying too much weight and have nearly zero endurance, making me reconsider a diet patch purchase.
After about a half dozen solo laps I sent him in to get his mother. She couldn’t make it out, but her current boyfriend (and J’s father), A headed out with Z in tow and both were amazed to see G riding completely solo. Of course, Murphy’s Law had to come into play and when it came time to stop G lost control and slammed into a curb racking his balls. Despite the pain G made me exceedingly proud without even trying by getting up (after a reasonable amount of tears and deep breaths on the offending curb) and hopping back on the bike to ride again. He actually hurt his leg pretty bad in the fall so we called it a day, but I wish I could convince Z to “get back on the horse” without prompting the way G did.