The "Ah-Ha" Moment

He was the timid, shy boy who had already cried four times out of an abject terror of learning to ride a mountain bike. Deep down, there seemed to be a voice that told him it would be impossible to learn how to ride a bike, although he had witnessed several other students succeed in the endeavor.

"Do you believe you can do this?" I asked him, after huffing and puffing alongside of his bike, trying to balance him.

"I am not thinking about that, I'm only concentrating on trying."

And trying he was, although each time he started out on the bike, he leaned so heavily to the right that it was all I could do to balance him.

"Pedal, pedal!" I shouted. "Sit up straight, stop leaning to the right!" He stumbled to a halt once again.

"I think you felt more balanced that time!" I encouraged him.
"Really?" he said hopefully. "Am I getting better?" I have never taught anyone to ride a bike, and I desperately tried to remember how the process worked. Surely, at some point one's muscles and brain and balance would all lock in.

But it was not to be that day. I could tell he was exhausted, both mentally and physically. "Let's call it a today and we can work again tomorrow," I suggested. "That last run was great, I just had my hand on your seat."

"So it was an improvement from this morning?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, you've improved a lot since this morning."

The next day was the students' rest day, and one of the teachers volunteered to run a bike session so that all those who were uncomfortable or still working on their skills could have some more time to practice before actually going mountain biking. I wandered over about an hour into it to check on the students. As I watched the teacher work with the same boy, I noticed that he did seem to be gaining more balance on the bike. He saw me and waved excitedly. "You're doing great!" I shouted.

"Okay," I heard the teacher say, "why don't you ride up towards Melody?" The teacher grabbed the seat and balanced him as the boy determinedly started on the pedals. All of a sudden, I could see that the teacher was no longer holding onto the bike.

"Am I riding on my own, am I riding on my own?" the boy shouted.

"Yes, yes, you are all on your own!" the teacher yelled back. "Ride straight to Melody!"

The boy's face lit up into a gigantic smile as he wobbled and weaved all on his own toward me.

"You did it! You are a bike rider!" I said to him when he reached me. His grin was so big that he couldn't even speak. But the impact of the moment became apparent later when he said of his experience, "Today is a very special day for me."