Learning to Ride a Bike

We had an unusually difficult morning today. After much repetition, my son still didn't grasp where the boundary lines were for where he was allowed to ride his bike. His grandfather found him three blocks away, when he ought to have stayed in front of our house. But let's back up a bit.

Yesterday, he took the bike that he knew was his out of the garage. It's only March here in Chicago, so he didn't yet have his bike fixed and repaired for the season ahead. The front tire was flat as a pancake. But he was determined. Time and time again he got on that bike, pedaled two or three rotations, and promptly fell. He would yell, kick the bike with his foot, and even pound the ground. But he got back up again time after time after time. How noble.

This morning when he asked to go ride his bike, I was confident he knew where he could ride it. But temptation got the best of him, and his grandfather found him farther away than was safe. When I went to remove his bike from his hands, sticky with sweat, he reacted the way I knew he would. Kicking, screaming, and hitting me, I had to hold him down on our cement driveway until he was safe. No Mom ever wants to physically restrain their child because they are so dysregulated after deliberately breaking rules meant to keep them safe. 

It took some time to calm down, head back inside, and get ready for school. I still feel anxious as I think back to a few hours earlier, when he was trying to hurt me. But I know in my heart that his dysregulation is a result of what he's already lived through and not a picture of the little boy he will one day be - tenacious and willing to work hard for what he really wants.