Coming-Of-Age Story #1: The Hill

The Hill

There we were, at the top of the long, steep road that dead ended into my house.  Every instinct living in my body demanded that I jump off that bike immediately and run for the hills, but my trust in my father overpowered them and forced me to stay. He had worked with me all day, holding my shoulders as I practiced balancing. Little by little, my confidence increased, as long as he was there to catch me.  After all, hot, summer asphalt is especially unforgiving to the knees of small children trying to learn to ride their bike.  Eventually, he assured me that I was ready to try it out on my own.

 I didn’t feel ready.  I never did under circumstances like these.  I looked down the road and felt my stomach turn over.  My palms were almost too sweaty to hold onto the handles. There was no backing down, not with my dad. No one else in the world could have made me ride down that hill but him.  It wasn’t physical or verbal coercion that finally sent me rolling, but a desire to win his approval. I knew that all he wanted me to do was try, and try I did.

It was about a one-hundred foot trip to the bottom. Of course one-hundred feet looks more like a mile when you’re five years old and sitting on top of an out of control bike. My front tires swerved left and right. I jerked my body to compensate, but only worsened the situation. Pretty soon I had built up a considerable amount of speed despite never pedaling once.  The speed somehow made things a little easier while also increasing the danger. I didn’t scream and I tried not to panic. I saw my house quickly approaching and thought “It’s almost over… You’re almost there.”

I somehow made it all the way to the bottom when it hit me; I had never learned how to break and the curb in front of my house was approaching quickly. Panic overcame me.  I was completely helpless. I might as well have been Wylie Coyote strapped to the front of a rocket headed straight off a cliff.  I clenched my eyes shut and braced for impact. When my front tire hit the curb, the bike and I traded places. I flipped over the handles and must have shot forward five feet.  I landed on some grass and softened the landing of the bike as it fell on me.

As I lay there, banged and scraped up, all I could think about was how I was glad that it was all over.  Regardless of the crash, I had made it all the way to the bottom by myself and was proud of it.  All feelings of pain and embarrassment were covered up by a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. I knew that I at least didn’t have to face the pain and embarrassment of giving up in light of fear. I knew that I had at least tried, and that was good enough for both me and my dad.