I’ll be in deep trouble when I need to teach my kids how to drive a car, because I became a witch when I tried to help them ride a bike without training wheels. Nice, patient, encouraging me morphed into Cruella De Vil. “Stop being such a scaredy-cat!” I screamed when they cried and refused to even get on the bike. I was an absolutely terrible teacher. So when it came time for my youngest child to learn to ride a two-wheeler, I finally learned from my mistakes and decided to hire someone else to teach her.
No, I wasn’t trying to outsource all of my parenting duties, but I really didn’t want child services called on me. Besides, we all hire professionals to teach our children how to swim and do a cartwheel or a karate chop, so why couldn’t someone else to help my child ride a bike?
The answer, I realized, is that it was pretty hard to find “someone”. I started out asking my friends, and most of them replied that their husbands had taught their children. That wouldn’t work for me – my husband had even less patience than I did, and even less free time with his demanding work schedule. So I posted a message on my neighborhood’s online message board just like I do when I’m looking for a good plumber or handyman. Surely, I thought, someone will answer.
And she did. That night, the phone rang around 10:30p.m. A woman I didn’t know called to say she had read my post. Ok, I thought. It’s a bit late but at least if I can get a recommendation out of it that’s fine. “How can you pass on one of life’s most important parenting experiences to someone else?” she hissed. “Don’t you want to be the one to help your child succeed?” I was dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe a stranger was calling to berate me. I felt bad enough already. I started bawling into the phone. “I want to help her but I just become so mean!” It was only a few minutes after I hung up that I became angry that a stranger actually called to tell me I’m a bad parent. I wished I had shot back: “Well, I would love to help my daughter ride but I’m an amputee,” or “I don’t think my wheelchair can go fast enough,” or, “I’m just too weak from my chemotherapy sessions.”
The next morning, I was redeemed. A mother of six (!) emailed a reply to my post and told me how to get in touch with Ken, who had taught all of her children. A few days later, my daughter had her first lesson. Ken was the bike whisperer. He exuded warmth, security, and confidence. He scooped my daughter onto her bike, and within 20 minutes he progressed from holding the back of her bike to running beside her with open arms, ready to catch her. A few more minutes, and she was riding completely independently. Success without verbal abuse – yes!
I don’t know if my kids will learn how to drive a car as quickly or as easily, but at least I know there are lots of driving instructors out there…
Rebecca Wolf is a writer and mother living in Bergen County.
