Growing Pains…

Every parent has buckets full of stories to tell about funny moments with their children: quirky conversations, mispronunciations, misunderstandings, that make us shriek with laughter and race to share the latest tale with friends and family. My mother collects anecdotes of her grandchildren like a squirrel collects nuts, the record keeper of all the memories we have long forgotten…

But one story I will never forget is when our son was learning to ride his new bicycle. Einstein said life is rather like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep pedalling ~ or you will fall off.

Not being the kind of child who likes to fall off things, our brave boy also insisted we buy trainer wheels. Being a ‘jump into the void’ kinda mum, I bowed to his request, but promptly hid them away at the back of the wardrobe, determined to get him riding without resorting to props.

He complained bitterly, but a few sessions on the back lawn saw him almost in control of his steed, as the slope at the bottom of the garden gave him the impetus to propel him half way across the lawn before he could even think about it, and at least the grass was soft when he occasionally fell off.  After several days practice, I suggested that now he almost had his balance, he should go out on the road – we lived in a quiet cul de sac – and see if he could ride properly on a hard surface.

Unimpressed, still mumbling about the trainer wheels, he followed his father outside, leapt on his bike, and pedaled furiously up and down the road, up and over the pavements, round and round three or four times, before screeching to a halt in from of his dad. Before anyone could say anything, our keen cyclist piped up crossly: “There, I did it! Now can I have my trainer wheels?”

As inevitably as learning to ride, kids grow up. Cute stories become rarer. Instead, we watch with pride as they begin to take on the mantel of young adults: testing boundaries; stretching their limits; stretching their parents’ limits…

Still, there are signs of the little boy reluctant to spread his wings and forgo those training wheels. As sweet sixteen approached, we started talking about driving lessons. But he was wary, and as we all know, driving in the Philippines is crazy. It’s like dodgem cars out there, and you take your life in your hands on EDSA. And as for those crazy bus drivers….  

Anyway, initially reluctant, he eventually succumbed to peer pressure and the desire for more independence, and we gently nudged him into the void.

So we are letting our son learn to drive in a country where road rules are merely a suggestion, indicators – and pedestrian crossings – are decorative, swerving across lanes – or adding extra lanes for the hell of it – is not a traffic violation, motor cyclists have a death wish and jeepney drivers seem to abide by no rules whatsoever. And as for those lunatic bus drivers, they just work on the principle that ‘I-am-much-bigger-than-you-so-just get-the-hell-out-of-my-way!’

Ah well, as my husband keeps reminding me, if the kids can drive here, they can drive anywhere.

At which point we rapidly discovered that our son knows stacks more about driving than we do, and is happy to keep us informed and improve our driving skills…

…which reminds me about an advertisement I once saw in which a mother ironically discusses the wisdom of youth, and explains that her daughter is quite the pioneer; the girl who knows everything. She was the first to discover the Kinks and the first to invent the maxi skirts while the Oldies know absolutely nothing and are completely out of touch with the modern world.

I’m sure we’ve all been there. Its typical teenage behaviour and frustrating as hell, but as he clutches keys and drivers license in his eager hands, the apron strings unravel faster than ever, and I suddenly find myself clutching him tighter, reluctant to let go…

 Bill Bryson was told by a well-meaning friend that once your kids leave home for college you never really get them back. “No!” he cried, “I want to know that they come back A LOT, only now they hang up their clothes, admire you for your wit and wisdom and no longer hanker after body piercings.”

And my daughter’s headmistress remarked in a parting speech to her senior girls how sad it is that our kids leave home just as they start to get really interesting. As we count the months until our son finishes his final exams and leaves home, I feel him already slipping away, and hope that we have taught him the skills to face the world without trainer wheels.

But when life gets tough, I will remind him – to paraphrase a Turkish playwright whose name I can’t pronounce – “Every time you miss your childhood, ride a bike!”

 And for those children in Tacloban who didn’t survive the storm, and will never ride a bicycle, my love and prayers go out to your families, who must live only with memories.