It's Like Riding a Bike

The frame was red.  The seat was white.  Streamers dangled from each side of the handlebars.  I can still remember the sound of the plastic training wheels scraping along the pavement.

The driveway and street had a dusting of snow; typical of January in the Midwest. I took hold of both handles and swung my leg over the middle bar. I didn't even think about touching the pedals.  Just stood there astride my very first bike with pride and anticipation coursing through my body.   

My eyes lifted to find my dad's reassuring face.  He was smiling down on me, but he was using his "this-is-important" voice. I did my best to listen to what he was telling me.  At long last, I perched on the seat and lifted on foot to meet a the pedal.  Dad steadied me and helped me gain a little momentum.  I wobbled along struggling to push those pedals and move those wheels.  We made our way across the cul-de-sac and halfway up the hill like this - a little girl working like the little engine that could and a gentle giant hunched over while pushing, steadying, and encouraging.

We made a wide turn back toward the house.  The slight downhill slope would provide the momentum I needed, my dad would be able to let go and give me the freedom of riding all by myself.  The first few second were a thrill.  No pedaling was required, and I was moving fast ... faster than I really wanted to go.  Panic set in.  My dad yelled, "Slow down. Use the brakes."  I steered my little red bike toward a neighbor's yard, and I bailed - I threw myself off that bike and landing with a soft thud on a blanket of snow and soggy grass.  

What I did next surprised even me.  I hopped back on that bike and started down the hill again!  I was so focused on the task at hand - learning how to ride my first big girl bike - that I don't remember what my dad was doing at this point.  I know he was running after me.  I know he was yelling something.  But I took no notice, built up too much speed again, and not knowing a better method for stopping, threw myself off that bike again ... landing in another neighbor's snow-covered yard.

My dad finally caught up with me when I ran out of hill and helped me back to the driveway.  What ensued was an explanation of the brakes - something my dad had failed to teach the first time around.  I was amazed that something as simple as pushing back on the pedal produced such an immediate result.  Clearly a much safer and more effective method of stopping.  

I tried it my way and then learned a better way.  I made a mistake and gained a valuable lesson.  Now as a parent, the impact of my first bike riding experience is not lost on me.  I just wish I could be better about hanging back and allowing the mistakes ... for the sake of the learning that happens this way. 

Here's hoping that blogging is like riding a bike ... something that you never forget how to do!  After an entire month of self-imposed blog restriction, MommyBrain is back, baby!

Tribute to a Childhood Idol - Updated

Updated with a comment from my daddy ... (scroll down; it's in italics and it is so sweet!)

It makes me sad that I haven't thought of Michael Jackson in probably years. He was such an important part of my childhood. Yet he's been pretty much forgotten (by me) in the last two decades. But there are still memories of the time in my life when I idolized this amazingly talented performer ... memories that today are making me smile through a few tears.

I had the posters ... many, many posters. When I close my eyes, I can still see the lavender vinyl purse with a photograph of his gorgeous face displayed on the side. I coveted that purse; it was my priced possession for what seems like a very long time. Oh, and The album. You know, the album. The most phenomenal album of all time. Yes, I must've played that Thriller album on my tiny portable record player about a zillion times. So many memories of roller skating in my basement ... Billie Jean, Wanna be Startin' Something, P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing), ... I knew every song by heart. There were times that my heart ached from liking him so much and not being able to meet him.

My childhood memories are filled with images and sounds of Michael Jackson. The soundtrack of my life would be incomplete without including his music.

One of the strongest memories I have of my younger brother Randy is his reaction to the Thriller video. He was absolutely, unequivocally petrified. At the tender age of just five, and through the fault of a not-so-smart babysitter, Randy was exposed to those images and then haunted by them for the next five years. On the nights that he just couldn't get those zombies and werewolf out of his little head, he would beg to sleep in my room. If I wouldn't allow it, he would resort to sleeping on the floor in my parents' bedroom.

I think it was the year I turned 9. My dad worked for an insurance company ... and I didn't really know what that meant. He convinced me that one of his clients knew Michael Jackson and arranged for me to have a phone conversation with Michael. I can remember everything about that day. Wishing away every minute of the school day. Brimming over with anticipation. Hoping that I would know what to say. Hoping he would like me as much as I liked him.

After dinner my dad took me to his home office, a little corner of our unfinished basement with filing cabinets and half of a ping-pong table used as a desk. It always seemed so very official to me. The fact that we went to his office made this phone call seem that much more special and important and official. My cheeks hurt from smiling. My dad dialed the number - it was written on a little scrap of paper - and waited while it connected. I can even see the phone, a beige old-fashioned kind with a springy cord. My dad spoke - very officially - with one of Michael's assistants, and I danced around with excitement. Finally, I was handed the phone and had a brief conversation with my idol, my crush, my Michael. The words are a blur but I remember the sound of his soft voice. I remember that our conversation ended when his assistant got back on the phone and said that Michael needed his rest. You see, the Pepsi incident had happened just a few weeks before, and Michael was still healing. I, of course, understood that his health was a priority and graciously bid him farewell ... there was probably a squeal and a juvenile, "I love you" involved.

The next day at school, I told everyone - and I do mean everyone - about my very special phone conversation with Michael Jackson. I am fairly certain my news was met with mixed reactions, and most people probably thought I was either a little crazy of a big fat liar. But it didn't matter to me. I had talked to Michael Jackson.

Flash forward to a birthday celebration about 5 or 6 years later. As my family sat around the table enjoying slices of cake, my favorite Uncle Steve started telling stories and reminiscing. Between bites, he said, "Hey, favorite niece Dana, remember that time when I pretended to be Michael Jackson and your dad called me and we talked on the phone?"

Squeaking brake sound. Cricket filled silence.

What?!? Everyone else seemed quite amused by this little story. I was devastated. I can see the humor in it now, but to have such a vivid, pivotal childhood memory revealed as a fraud was pretty upsetting. For several years after that, my Uncle Steve would call to sing Happy Birthday to me while impersonate Michael Jackson. His attempt at an apology and humor.

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Dana, your story brings tears to my eyes yet today. The only reason you got to talk to Michael Jackson that day was because your parents loved you so much they wanted to make the impossible happen- even if it was only for the moment. Your eyes lighting up and that wide smile was all I needed to know that it was not a joke on you, but a moment to be cherished forever. I would go back and do the same thing again if I thought it would make you smile like that again. Yes, I'm the Dad that wanted everything for his little girl- even the impossible. Love, Dad

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Wow! I didn't expect to have this much to say about a man I haven't thought about in quite a long time. This little stroll down memory lane is just a simple tribute to a childhood idol, a talented performer, and an important part of my early years. Michael Jackson, you had an impact on my life and you will be missed.