“Mum!” The shout went up as the bike wobbled and toppled over, spilling the child onto the floor. There was a moment of silence. “Ow!”
“Are you okay?” Mum asked, running over and pulling the bike off her daughter.
“Yeah.” Came the slow reply, and then. “You let go.” It was a statement and in it the child wrapped up disbelief and heart-ache.
“I did. But you have to learn.”
Mum watched her daughter tear up and one slid down her face. She brushed it away, smudging the dirt.
“You can always go back to the stablisiers,” Mum said.
The girl looked at her. “No.” Across her face the pain fled as anger took its place. “I can do this.”
“Then lets do it.” Mum said, pulling her daughter to her feet.
* * * * *
It took Mum a year to get me to learn how to ride a bike. A year… I suppose it was dyspraxia but at the time we didn’t know.
Every day after school Mum would take me out onto the green in front of the house and help me with my bike. She would pick me up and bandage my knees, and not once did she suggest I give up.
Without her I don’t think I would be writing. I’m not even certain I’d have finished school. Which is why all my books say in the front…
This post was inspired by the daily prompt – Last but not least.