One late afternoon, I found myself absorbed in my computer, the world outside fading away. Suddenly, the garden doors swung open, and in rushed my eldest son, Ethan, his cheeks rosy and a helmet askew on his head. “Mom!” he exclaimed, but my focus remained on the screen. “Mom!” he repeated, this time louder, “I can ride a bike!” Now he had my complete attention.
We had gifted him a gleaming new bike for his fifth birthday two years ago—a larger size, as Ethan is tall for his age. The shopkeeper had assured us it was a smart choice, but in hindsight, it was a miscalculation. Ethan, despite his height, was cautious. Our attempts to ride together resulted in precarious moments, with me gripping the back of his seat, struggling to keep him balanced as he wobbled. Eventually, our enthusiasm waned, especially as the rainy autumn transitioned into a dreary winter, leaving the bike to gather dust while I managed the chaos of a growing family.
As the twins arrived, my focus shifted entirely away from teaching Ethan how to ride. The spring brought new dynamics; I was often too preoccupied to help him as he discovered new interests outside. With two new babies at home, it was natural for me to lose touch with the details of his daily life. I found myself tucking him into bed and hearing snippets of stories from days gone by—fragments that felt foreign in my hands.
That summer, Ethan made friends more easily than before, a feat that had once been challenging for him. Our neighborhood was bustling with children, and soon, Ethan was dashing off to play, often unaccompanied. Initially hesitant, I eventually agreed that he could walk those 100 meters to the neighboring yard. The other parents seemed supportive, so I followed suit.
This new camaraderie among the kids became a regular occurrence. After school, Ethan and his younger brother would eagerly seek out their friends, whether inside or outside, racing on a mix of bikes of all shapes and sizes. Some had training wheels, others did not, and there were also “balance” bikes—designed to help children learn to ride without pedals. These bikes encouraged independence, allowing kids to find their balance without external support.
This situation serves as a perfect metaphor for parenting. We can either let children learn to steady themselves through life, experiencing ups and downs, or we can hold them up, providing a false sense of security that may hinder their ability to find their footing. I recall when Ethan was just 13 months old and struggling to walk. I would pull him around the room, lifting his weight as he resisted. Those efforts were for my satisfaction, not his. I was rushing his milestones, eager for him to reach them as my first child.
Eventually, he took his first steps, and I was there, celebrating alongside him for all his early achievements. But witnessing him burst through the garden doors that day, eager to show off his newfound biking skills, was a different kind of pride. I realized that he had accomplished this on his own, in his own time, which was incredibly rewarding for both of us. As parents, we learn that while we cherish the milestones we witness firsthand, those moments of independence—when our children achieve things without our direct involvement—can be even more fulfilling.
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In summary, as children grow, their milestones often shift from shared experiences to personal achievements, highlighting the importance of independence in their development. While parents may feel a sense of loss, there’s profound joy in watching children thrive on their own.