“Big Pink” is now “Sparkle,” or “Diamond,” or “Mango Freddy.” Something like that. It’s a metamorphosis of sorts. A big change. The training wheels have come off the little pink Huffy bicycle. It has a white basket on front that is loaded down with seashells. My daughter held a wake when it became clear the trainers weren’t going back on. Right there in the shed, amongst the gasoline smells and the remnants of a squirrel’s frat party. “I need a few moments,” she said with a sniffle. A little tear perched itself on the very edge of her eyebrow, about to take a life-changing leap. She needed to talk to Big Pink. To say goodbye. To mourn the passing of her old bike, with its clanking training wheels. To christen a new one. “Are you sure we can’t put them back on?” she asked upon emerging, the tear now gone. “I’m sure we shouldn’t,” I told her. “It’s time you learn to ride without them.” She went inside, unconvinced. The old man better know what he’s talking about, she was thinking. I stared at the bike, naked and needing a newly attached kickstand to stay upright. To battle gravity. Incapable of keeping itself vertical on its own, without assistance. Two thin, tiny wheels. They are supposed to keep the whole ship afloat. But only if the rider stays balanced, and steers straight, and gives it speed. Speed? Speed! I don’t want her to give it speed! What about cars? What … Continue reading Goodbye training wheels, hello ulcer