Subtle Steps and Silhouettes
"I'm ready!" you declared, pulling on your bike helmet.
"Okay babe, text me when you get there," I reminded you.
“I will!” you responded eagerly, none of the eye-rolling teenaged resistance just yet. You still called me Mommy which I secretly savored.
With your friend waiting at the end of the driveway, you grabbed your bike and headed out. I watched as your lean legs pedaled behind him, your shadow trailing a few feet back - a subtle visual of the hesitancy that still clings to you.
My instincts told me that you would be fine. This was so good for you. The day was gorgeous and though I wanted to hop on my bike and ride with you, I was learning to take a step back. We had ridden this trail to school for two years and yet I heard you tell your buddy to take the lead, that you didn’t remember the way and I was confused at your lack of self-assurance. Your shadow continued to trail your friend, your pedal strokes not fully up to speed.
This morning before you left we found your bike lock, pumped your tires, and threw a water bottle on for good measure. I reminded you to wear high socks, to text me when you arrived, and we went over the path you’d take to get to school. I warned you that it rained last night and the trail might be muddy and please don’t show up to school covered in mud, please.
But at what point do we hand over the reins? Stop the reminders. Let them forget sometimes, let them fall just a little? At what point do we allow, within the confines of safety of course, a little freedom to take hold? Would this simple act of biking to school be the catalyst we needed to see self-confidence begin to blossom?
I saw your silhouettes moving side-by-side down the path, and felt the weight of these unanswered questions. You inching towards independence, me having to loosen the grasp of my protection. The hesitance and eagerness battling within you, within me.
And then, the details disappeared - the scuffed bike helmet, the overstuffed backpack, the driveway scribbled in chalk drawings. Just the outline of my child, his long black shadow from the morning sun inching towards his next chapter. And I felt proud of him, of me.
I pressed my palm against the hot pavement, searing in the significance of this small milestone. For an early morning in May it was quite warm, soothing almost.
"Meet you after school!" I called out, holding back the urge to remind again.
You turned and smiled, raising your hand in a wave as a piece of your childhood slipped quietly into the shadows behind you.
