Growing

Gideon has grown so much in the three months since we left Texas, it's truly astounding.  Just while we were in the hotel, he outgrew almost every size 3T item of clothing I'd packed, leaving me wishing I'd thrown in at least a couple of the 4T summer pieces packed and stored away.  (Knowing I had this stockpile waiting, I, of course, stubbornly refused to purchase anything new.)

Even I haven't made the appropriate mental adjustments for his growth.  On Saturday, I slipped out of the house quietly shortly after 6:30 to attend my first local yoga class.  I returned almost three hours later to a quiet, empty house.  When the boys returned from their trip out for doughnuts and lawn tractor shopping a little before lunchtime, Gideon seemed much taller walking through the front door than I remembered him being, than I would have thought possible, than I wish he was.

Nothing illustrates his all-around growth more than his recent interest in riding bicycles.  While in the hotel, we acquired a small beginner's bike with training wheels at a friend's neighborhood garage sale.  He didn't have much luck with it in the hotel parking lot, but it didn't take him long to master the peddling action and power once he had a driveway of his very own to practice in.

And then, through the same generous friends, we came into a second, bigger bike - one I'd imagined coming into play months - nay, years even - down the road.  But a little over a week ago, Jeremy pulled it out while straightening up our overflowing garage to attach its training wheels before they got lost in the shuffle of boxes and packing material.  Gideon, confused by the appearance of this second bigger bicycle, got upset and we had to spend several minutes reassuring him that we didn't mean for him to ride it now, that it was just for when he got bigger.  That seemed to calm him, especially once, as is his way these days, he reiterated to us several times - as if to make sure we understood - that the bike was for when he got bigger.  All was well, and the adults sank back into the tasks at hand, leaving Gideon to his own devices.

Within an hour, he was easily peddling the new, red, bigger bike around our driveway.  Jeremy, who'd been working in the garage while Gideon played out of sight outside, said that when Gideon came peddling by the garage on the bike the first time, he got the biggest grin on his face when he saw Jeremy.  As if to say, "Look who's bigger now."  There's been no looking back.  The smaller bike has been relegated to a dusty corner of the garage as the big red one gets pulled out day after day.

So yesterday, we took our first family bike ride, and I could not help but think of my history with the bicycle as I peddled alongside my son and husband.  It was a remarkable ride for more than just the obvious reasons.

When I was Gideon's age, we lived in the desert of west Texas, surrounded by sand, tumbleweeds and rattlesnakes.  My dad worked hard, long hours at a cattle feed yard.  I had to get up early in the mornings to see him in the mornings, or I didn't see him at all.  My mom kept house and my sister and I during the hot, dusty, dry days.  The road in front of our house was travelled by pick-up trucks and livestock semis.

Then, once I reached school-age, we moved to Central Texas, where both parents worked full-time jobs during the day and tended house and farm in the evenings and on weekends.  It wasn't until sometime in elementary school that a bicycle made an appearance on the farm.  My dad made a couple of attempts to teach me to ride on the rocky gravel lanes of the hilltop farm (the road in front of our house was busy, with a posted speed limit of 45 mph, but most cars whizzed by at 55 mph).  But I was gangly and klutzy and his patience was perhaps mitigated - and understandably so - by the many demands on his time.  It wasn't long until we seemed to silently agree to just let it go.

Then, in high school, a friend - shocked by my bicycling ineptitude - felt compelled to rectify that deficiency and took it upon herself to try to teach me to ride a bike in the gravelly back alley behind her house.  But she was young and unable to adequately teach a skill that had already been second-nature to her for years.  And I was young, still klutzy, very insecure and more worried about looking foolish than anything else.  So again an unspoken resignation settled in between teacher and student.

Skip ahead over a decade.  I'm in my late 20s and we are living in a small, rural Korean village surrounded by rice paddies.  For several months, Jeremy has been riding a second-hand bicycle to work daily - a 15-minute ride from our house.  We've already taken several fantastic trips to other countries in the area - China, Hong Kong, Thailand, New Zealand.  I've realized through our travels that being able to ride a bicycle would open the door to a lot of touring opportunities while traveling, and I start to wonder if maybe there's still a chance I could learn to ride.

So one weekend afternoon, I pull Jeremy and his bicycle out into the streets of our Korean neighborhood and timidly climb on and start peddling - with Jeremy running along behind holding the seat (undoubtedly making our Korean neighbors scratch their heads at their crazy "mi-guk" neighbors).

I circuited the streets of the neighborhood a few times before wobbling into a crash (Jeremy was still even holding on) that left a good gash in my hamstring and a bigger mark on my confidence.  It was months before I got up the courage to try again.

But faced with a looming 30th birthday, an upcoming trip to Australia, and the need to prove I wasn't too old to do something unexpected, I found the courage and confidence to try again.  And two weeks before I turned 30, I learned to ride a bicycle.

Since then, I've ridden bikes down narrow Korean rice paddy roads (that dropped off two feet at their edges into marshy rice fields),  dusty red Outback trails, rural southern Chinese back roads (with a guide for whom bicycle-riding was like walking and who couldn't comprehend my clumsy, novice riding style), and the wet, slick streets of Amsterdam (while it rained).  And I still marvel at the fact that I can do it.  After 30 years, I figured it out (with the help of a patient, unflappable husband who didn't care what it looked like to run along behind the bicycle of his still-gangly, but less concerned about appearances adult wife).  It's wonderful to still be able to surprise yourself like that.

So Sunday, as Gideon's training wheels scraped along the pavement and Jeremy and I struggled (me more than Jeremy, of course) to stay upright and keep Gideon's learner's pace, I couldn't help but marvel at how far we've come.  Not only am I mother to a son - truly inconceivable to me as I wheeled down those Korean rice paddy roads - but that son is already learning a skill that took me 30 years to master (using the word loosely there).  And some day, "lord willin'" (as my friend Julia says) we'll be taking long, scenic bike rides together as a family.  It's thrilling and remarkable.

Of course, since that ride (and since I decided to write this post), Jeremy decided to offset Gideon's training wheels to help him start working on the balance part of riding a bicycle and the bike has sat dormant in the garage since (so no photo ops to accompany this entry).  The boy does not do things if he's not sure he's going to excel from the start.  It's something he comes by naturally.  What can I say - at least I know the kid got some of my genes!

I guess no matter how old we are, there's always room for growth.  And that's refreshing.  It's always worth a try.  You just have to have the courage to dive in.  It's part of "growing up".  If you're lucky, you never stop growing.  You can always surprise yourself - and those around you.