“Here is how you ride a bike,” he said

“You put your hands on the handlebars.

And your feet on the pedals

And you just pedal

The faster you pedal,

The less likely you’ll fall”

 

Small, blunt fingers grip the rubber handlebars

Bright blue helmet sitting on top

Of black hair, cut short

With small ears sticking out

 

The tight grip on my waist slackens

And I yelp,

Feet pedaling frantically

Until I hear laughter

And I realize

I’m moving

And as that realization hits.

I’m falling.

 

Rough calloused fingers grip the handlebars

As we walk back home.

And my grandpa patiently explains to me,

A seven year old girl

How exactly

To ride a bike.

 

The next day, we try again.

Back on that long stretch of road

WIth houses sitting on either side

Silently, judging my progress

That really isn’t progress at all.

 

Grandpa is behind me,

Holding on to me just as he said he would

And as soon as the the wheels are moving

And the pink and purple streamers are flowing

from where they attach to the handlebars.

He lets go

 

And for a few moments,

I don’t realize that he’s let go

And I’m giggling

As my wheels keep turning,

And the tufts of my hair

Peeking outside of my helmet

Dance in the wind.

And I think to myself.

Riding a bike, is like flying.

 

By the time I finally realize

That grandpa has let go

I’ve already gotten over

That slightly irrational fear

of falling and dying

And I’m squealing

As I suddenly flail down a gentle slope

 

Rough but gentle fingers

Take care of my cut

As I sit

Like a big girl

Tears leaking out of my eyes

But I don’t make a sound.

 

“Learning to ride a bike is easy,” he says

“You put your hands on the handlebars

And you pedal

Its just that easy.

The hard part is persisting

And realizing

Failure is just another stop on the way

To success.”

 

“Riding a bike is easy,” I say.

Holding my brother tightly

As his hands

Slightly bigger than mine were

Grip the rubber handlebars.

“You just pedal.”

 

And soon enough, he’s moving

And I let go.

Watching him ride shakily

Laughing

Until he finally realizes

He’s riding by himself.

And as that realization hits.

He falls.

 

I walk the bike back home that day.

My brother pouting slightly.

“Its okay” I comfort him

“Its the first time

Out of many.

And you’ll always fail before

you succeed.”

 

We try again the next day.

On the same long stretch of road.

That I fell on so many years ago.

 

Riding a bike

is easy.

You grip the rubber handlebars.

And you pedal.

As fast as you can

Hoping you won’t stumble and fall.

And you just try

Over and over again.

Until you capture that intense feeling.

Of flying and falling, and flying some more.

 

But teaching how to ride a bike

Is not so easy.

Because to teach

You must master the art

of letting go.

 

 

 

 

A poem for English class that I wrote? Constructive criticism anyone?