Yesterday, I had the joy—and the challenge—of teaching my daughter, Charlotte, how to ride her bike without training wheels. She’s had this bike for three summers now, and I decided it was time for her to conquer it. After school, we headed to the park, eager to start her second lesson.
The park was surprisingly lively for a Monday evening—then it hit me: DC schools are on spring break. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy. Freight trains rolled by, kids zipped around on their own bikes, families laughed and grilled, and joggers wove through the paths. Amid all the activity, Charlotte and I found a little corner to begin her lesson.
Her determination was sky-high, but her ability to balance? Not so much. Still, she tried. And tried. And fell. Bless her heart, she kept going.
At one point, an older gentleman who had been watching from his car got out and offered me a tip. He said, “Push her while she’s pedaling a few times, then let her go.” His advice was simple but golden. I thanked him, adjusted my approach, and gave it another shot.
To my amazement, Charlotte started to find her rhythm. She wobbled, but she pedaled. She teetered, but she didn’t give up. Watching her progress filled me with so much pride.
Of course, I was out of breath. This experience also reminded me that I need to prioritize my fitness. But back to Charlotte: I realized the key wasn’t just about balance—it was about confidence.
So, I told her something that I hope sticks with her forever: “Right now, I’m holding the bike, and that’s your confidence. Your job is to take it back by riding on your own.” I also explained that to succeed, she had to block out the distractions around her and focus.
And distractions were everywhere: trains rumbling by, kids zooming past, dogs barking, families laughing. The park was alive, but so was her determination. Slowly but surely, she took the challenge. And after a few more attempts, she did it—she rode on her own.
Cheers erupted from nearby cars as people who had been watching clapped and yelled their congratulations. I joined in, beaming with pride. Charlotte was tired and thirsty, but I encouraged her to keep going. I told her that the only way to get better is to practice, even when it’s hard.
This bike lesson became so much more than just a fun activity. It was a moment to teach her about life. I told her: Nothing will be handed to you. You have to focus, work hard, and make sacrifices to achieve your goals.
As a Black father raising a Black daughter, I know the world may not always be kind to her. So I pushed her a little harder, knowing these lessons are as vital as the skill of riding a bike. My prayer is that these lessons—about perseverance, confidence, and grit—stay with her long after her wheels stop spinning.
Because yes, it takes a village to teach a young queen to ride a bike, but it also takes a village to prepare her for the road ahead.
Calcie | The Social Dad DC
SOCIAL DAD DC 