Hold on tight sweetie and pedal. Keep pedalling.
Don't let go.
Don't let go. I can't ride a bike. I can't ride a bike.
Keep pedalling. Just keep pedalling.
I can't ride a bike.
But honey you are riding.
My daughter looked back at me as the realization of what she was doing took hold, and then hit the curb. She, along with her bike, fell over — looking at me, started to cry.
Recently, sitting across the table from me, she talked about her summer, the final preparations for her trip out east, how work was going, and her thoughts on taking another photography class. We debated her favourite photograph — I started to smile.