You learned to ride a two-wheeler this week. You are exactly (per your terms) 6 and three-quarters years old. And now you can ride a two-wheeler.
Your daddy huffed and puffed his way up and down the block maybe 600 or so times before you got it.
I stood on the sidelines, cheering you on, but not so loud that I would distract you.
A strong, silent cheer.
You were nervous. You were frustrated. You wanted to give up. Some days, you did give up.
But yesterday, it clicked. You soared. You were strong and steady, you turned a corner, you stopped on your own. You held your head so high.
It's a moment I hope you never forget. The moment you achieved something that seemed far greater than you. Something that scared you and excited you at the same time. A rite of passage that will stay with you for your entire life -- when things seem new or foreign or overwhelming... it will be just like riding a bicycle.
It's not the last time you will feel like this.
In ten or so years, you will get the same joy out of getting your driver's license (gasp!).
When you work really hard on a project for school and get a big, shiny A+.
When you get into college.
When you make your first homemade chocolate cake and it comes out perfectly.
When you have your first kiss that actually means something to you.
When you stand up for yourself in an uncomfortable position.
When you have a good friend stand up for you in an uncomfortable position.
When you find your true passion.
When you watch your own baby soar on her two-wheeler, your breath caught firmly in your throat, feeling every wobble in your heart and then smiling from ear to ear once you see that steady roll, that supportive hand let go of the back of the seat, that look of concentration and pure joy that comes across her face.
These are the moments that you should never forget. The moments that make up your life. The moments that matter.
And I hope to be there for every one, on the sidelines with a strong, silent cheer.