Freedom means different things to different people.
Since we just celebrated the fourth of July, freedom has been on my mind. It’s been on the minds of my children, too. To my 5-year-old, Adelaide, nothing has meant freedom to her in her short life like the idea – the thrill! – the absolute freedom of being able to ride A BIG GIRL TWO-WHEELER.
Last week her big sister Josie surprised us all by teaching Adelaide how to ride without training wheels. She made it all the way around our house (in the grass, for safety purposes) without falling. She was SO excited.
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For the next week, she pestered and practiced and pestered some more until finally her dad told her that we could go for a family bike ride on the actual street. This meant the finding and putting on of helmets, knee pads, elbow pads and gloves.
When we pulled out of our driveway, the brightness of the smile on her little face rivaled that of the sun.
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With Adelaide safely in the middle, we formed a caravan of sorts and then we proceeded up and down 4 different cul-de-sac streets.
Now, Adelaide is a child that talks NON-STOP. She is what I affectionately call “my little motor-mouth.” In other words, she has a LOT to say. And most of it is funny.
This inaugural bike ride was no different. Most of the time, I wish I could follow her around with a tape recorder.
As we crossed the street without incident, she said, “Can you believe how good I am at this?”
As we rounded a curve, she shouted, “I can’t believe I am doing this! Well, actually, I can.”
It was like she was flying. Her little legs were a blur and she felt so grown up and, well, free. “I am on the STREET! On this purple bike! This was always a dream of mine. Did you know that?”
The running commentary continued: “I’m pretty good at this, I must say! I’m actually the very best of all.”
“Can someone please tell me how come I’m so great at this?”
“I’m the greatest! The greatest one of all! Well, that I know of, anyway….”
And my personal favorite:
“Daddy thought I would get tired and I’d say that my legs hurt, but he’s mostly always wrong.”
As we made our way back home, Adelaide was in one piece – surviving only one near-scrape from a hedge by the sidewalk. She pedaled hard up the driveway, red-faced, sweaty and triumphant. She unbuckled her pink helmet, threw her arms in the air and shouted, “This is the best day of my life!”
Yep. Freedom. There’s nothing better.