Christopher turned six on Tuesday and we figured it was time to get him a boy's bike. For the last few months he's been riding Emma's bright pink Disney princess scooter up and down the block.
Though I must say, I admire the kid's security in his masculinity. Having outgrown his old bike and a true junkie for anything on wheels, Christopher would snag whatever ride he could pull out of the garage, usually tossing a football into the pink basket below the ornate handle bars, and would ride like hell, a pink, flowery streak tearing up the pavement towards the rest of the boys down the road. These boys are about his age, and they haven't realized yet that they should be flushing his head down the toilet for such an offense.
My decision to get him a masculine bike of his own isn't because I believe that boys and girls should only have gender-oriented toys. I was all tomboy as a kid, so I know from experience how cruel other kids can be if you're the least bit androgynous. But with Christopher being a boy and all, I not so much afraid that they'll call him names as much as I am concerned that they might beat him with sticks.
Anyway, Christopher's been showing a preference for those low to the ground, big wheelie types of bikes, so with the boy being as tall as he is I looked for the biggest big wheelie I could find. After an extensive (five minute) Internet search I found just the thing. A Radio Flyer trike, wagon red, with a big wheel in the front, and a four foot flag pole sporting a nifty red flag on the back. When he sits in the thing he raises his hands to the handle bars, like he's steering a Harley, his legs pump the pedals like pistons, and sometimes he shakes his head, grimaces, and shrieks in delight. I understand that cry. It's that pumped up, radical feeling that makes you want to howl. It reminded me of myself at a Rage Against the Machine concert about 13 years ago. Ok, it reminded me of when I played a Rage Against the Machine CD in the kitchen the other day. A tip: don't sing along to "Killing in the Name" while doing the dishes. Something might break.
But before I experienced the wild release of edgy, political metal/rap, I found glorious freedom on a bike. I envied that about Christopher as I watched him pedal down the street, oblivious to cars or squirrels in his path. A bike is the symbol of the kind of freedom he will later get with a car. A kid on a bike can go anywhere that will admit two wheels - smooth or cracked streets, the bumpy terrain of front lawns, and empty school yards after dismissal. It's better than trespassing. You're not just walking through a fenced area. You're flying through it. The hum of wheel spokes cutting through the air is essentially saying, "So long, suckers!" It makes you cocky, like you're Speed Racer, only with hipper clothes and your speech is in synche with the movement of your mouth when you talk.
This isn't to say I haven't been a nervous wreck watching him ride down the street. Flag or no, I worry that cars and trucks don't see him, or worse, they're teenage drivers who are obsessively thinking about themselves and are ignoring everything else in the world, or that, worse still, Christopher is so excited to be on the bike that he isn't looking before he darts out of the driveway and into traffic. Our street is relatively busy for a suburban neighborhood, and it seems that everyone who passes by is driving an enormous, kid-squashing truck. Yesterday I finally let him ride down the block to his friend Luke's house without running along beside him. I stayed five feet behind him.
It'll take time, but I know we'll both get used to him riding on his own. When you're a kid, riding your bike gives you a sense of independence and privacy that isn't even matched by closing the door to your room. Your room is still in someone else's house. A kid's bike is their domain, their steed, and they're liberator. Even if it's just down the block I think it's important for Christopher to feel that. And when he gets older and much, much bigger and stronger than other boys, if he decides that he wants a pink bike then his family will support him.
But before he does, God help him, he needs to learn how to look both ways.
Ah, the glory days of that first bike! I had a totally outdated Schwinn Stingray, green with a silver sparkle banana seat and apehanger handlebars. It was totally outdated, but at least I had something to ride. Went everywhere on that thing.
ReplyDeleteWe had Big Wheels before we graduated to two wheels. Our house was on a hill, so the fun thing to do was race down the hill as fast as you could and then lock up the front wheel and peel out a sidways skid in the dirt at the bottom of the hill. Hours of entertainment. We eventually wore flat spots and holes in the front wheels from doing too many of those. The folks weren't pleased.
You think he'll want a motorcycle when he gets to be 18? If you want more gray hair, you could always ponder that possibility.
He already wants a motorcycle. In our neighborhood most of the teenaged boys have dirt bikes or 4 wheelers, and Christopher loves those, but he really covets our neighbor's motorcycle. If I began praying for him now do you think it stocks up in heaven like a college savings in the bank?
ReplyDeleteRiding a bike down a hill. Oh, that was fun. We don't have hills down here below sea level, but I used to ride my bike down levees. Back before the levees betrayed New Orleans!
Sadly, I'm not sure there are any pictures of me with my bike or any of the Big Wheels.
ReplyDeletePrayer never hurts, so go for it.
I miss riding my motorcycle. Poor thing just sits there getting dirtier and looking worse.
Of course he covets the neighbor's motorcycle Gen, cause its awesome. I salute your move on getting him a totally boss Big Wheel, it takes a special kind of parent to buy the bad-ass trike and not the mega-safety scooter for their son.
ReplyDeleteMight I suggest, as a non-parent, an idea to help him start looking both ways...good, glad you're so interested. Fill some spray bottles with water if you are feeling lame or with Kool-Aid, or any other non-toxic, brightly colored, staining fluid. Now, simply hide around corners when you know he will be passing...after a few nasty blasts of Delaware Punch (that would be what I would use) to the head he'll be looking both ways everywhere he goes. The obvious downside is, of course, he may kill you in your sleep when he's a teenager...but that's seven or eight years away so I say go for it.
Hope that helps.