Happy memory

Based on a diary entry July 2006

How do you record a memory? Why even? By definition there's no need. It's a memory - I won't forget it. It wouldn't be a memory if I did. But anyway, it's a happy memory so perhaps what I really mean is that I want to share it.
 
A day in May.
I have 2 children, 2 boys, David and Michael. I was going to make up new names for them but I can't bring myself to deny them even by that much. Their own names, ordinary, but so carefully chosen to be just right for them. Against the fashion of the times for unusual, romantic, poetic names, Joshua's and Jakes, Ewens, Connors and Finns. Keep it simple we decided in the end. Good, old fashioned, ancient names.

David, as befits the eldest, is bossy, domineering and, to the despair of his little brother, Good At Everything. To such an extent that Michael will not even bother to compete with the god that is David.

And so it was with learning to ride a bike. He refused to contemplate it.

'I'll be able to do it when I'm 7'.

The power of birthdays, the experience of age. In his child's mind, no effort required, no skills to be learned, practised, developed. David was 7 and he could ride a bike. Ergo, when I'm seven, I'll be able to ride one too. No amount of reasoning could persuade him that his brother had actually had to learn how to do it too. To cling in terror and exhilaration as we pushed him along. To pick himself up time and time again til he 'got it'. No way. In Michael's world view David mastered the skill in a heartbeat, subdued the crazy machine with a contemptuous glance and pedalled off over the hill. 

Seven came and seven went but the magic bike fairy never came and waved her magic wand. The bike flatly refused to co-operate, refused to be tamed; lay neglected in the back of the garage. And the years rolled by full of other trials and triumphs. And it annoyed me so much. That he was missing it - the freedom, the speed, the joy of riding a bike on a sunny day. The missed adventures, the reason we'd bought a house right next to a park, for heavens sake.


Then came a sunny day in May. Michael 10, David 13.

We all went to the park and I thought I'll just take his bike along - no pressure. [Yeah, right, you devious, persistent, stubborn, I'll get you on this bike if it kills me kind of mother. And you wonder where he gets it from].

Once in the park he couldn't resist of course. He had a few goes and we clapped and encouraged and showered him with advice so he hardly knew where to turn. Then David stepped in. I held my breath. This could go either way. Michael can spot condescension a mile off. Would he listen? Would he flounce off home in a huff?  Would our afternoon walk be spoiled before it began?

But it was perfect. David took charge, we stood meekly by. He took Michael off to a grassy spot - soft landing if you fall off he explained. No teasing, no tricks or scorn, he was very patient for a change. It was very sweet to see them together, working as a team. Then he was off, sailing over the grass. It was fantastic. He was so pleased with himself. A real moment of pure joy and delight.

Perhaps motherhood is not so bad after all. They are growing up so fast and suddenly I want it to last forever.