A bike without training wheels.
Um, excuse me but when did you learn to do this? You did not ask for my permission to reach this milestone. Weren't you supposed to fight gravity for a week or two? Wasn't Papa supposed to be worn ragged as he followed you up and down the block, his hand glued to the back of the seat? Where are your skinned knees? Your bloody knuckles? What's next? Writing your name? Reading a book? Tying your shoe? How dare you grow up on me!
Time is passing too quickly. I go to sleep on Monday and wake up to Friday. Spring turns to fall before I've had a chance to even smell the first perfect blooms from the flowering pear tree out back. And you, you are growing up at rocket speed, racing away from me to do those Big Kid Things that are now just fond memories of my own youth. I watch, no, I study you. Is it possible to trick a lingering moment and trap it into a memory?
Every beetle is a gazelle in the eyes of its mother, so says the Arab proverb. And you are no exception, my son. No matter how far you ride away from me, you will always be to me my little boy...my Boy Wonder.
