Long before helicopter parenting and the current fear of kids being out of sight for more than five seconds, my mom and dad, and the parents of other kids on the block, pretty much let us roam, so long as we were with other kids and we promised to be home by suppertime. Shocking by contemporary standards, I know. That would be considered criminal neglect these days, I suppose. Somehow, we survived.
But one could walk on short little legs only so far. As long as I was limited to my own two feet, my world consisted of a few residential blocks. Real freedom came only with the ability to ride a big-guy bike. If I could learn to handle a real bicycle, the city would be mine.
I would ride for miles, head out for parts unknown, explore the wide world beyond the pathetic limits of my boring little neighborhood. Who knew what bold adventures, what manly challenges, what unimaginable delights, awaited over the far horizon?
The only problem was, my little two-wheeler still had training wheels, and as much as I wanted them off, I was scared to death of having them removed.
Tomorrow’s story is about what happened when Mom and Dad decided it was time for me to take the next step.