The Power of a Bike

Charlie rearranged the three folded-up fleece blankets at the foot of his bed and called for Jim: “Da-ad! Da-ad!”

“‘Hey pal, I’ll be in to talk to you,” said Jim who was promptly told by Charlie “lie down!”—whereupon, Jim and I had to agree, it might not be a bad idea to get Charlie a full-size double bed for his 11th birthday. He’s slept in a single bed ever since we transitioned Charlie out of his crib (when he was just turning 2 years old) and, needless to say, he’s inches, he’s a few feet taller than he used to be.

When Charlie was 2…….that was when we were living on Ashland Avenue in St. Paul, not far from Ruminator Books (now, sadly, closed). Sometimes Jim and I just look at each other and shrug “where did the time go?”; sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday that I carried Charlie snug in the curve of my left arm, supported by my hip.

Over the weekend, I saw some friends I had last seen eight-plus years ago. Some have kids of their own; others are my age, and not yet married or parents (yet). Everyone asked about Charlie and—how can you explain all those years, the sage of moving from place to place and Charlie learning to talk and swim and ride his bike and the whole epic of finding the right school for Charlie—in snatches of conversation over dinner in a noisy Greek restaurant with lovely food or walking down 8th Avenue towards Time Square and running for a taxi? I often resorted to something basic: “Charlie’s taller than me, his feet are bigger, and he’s got fingers as long as his palms—-just right for playing the cello. Yes, he’s in special ed; he talks some—he tries really hard.”

Just how hard was in full evidence over the past few days. Jim had to spend most of his time in New York attending to a meeting of 20-plus professors from all over the country; they are all contributors to a book on Catholic Studies that Jim is editing. I found myself playing hostess at dinners where—-instead of nudging Charlie to tell the waiter “burger and fries, please”—I was handed the wine list and asked all of guests to move their chairs in together so that two more people could squeeze in. Friday night Jim and I stayed over in a hotel: “He went to sleep ok but Saturday morning……” was my parents’ report when I came home on Saturday around noon to “check in.”

We all went back into New York and Charlie happily walked up and down 7th Avenue to see some friends.”Cousin Bobby! Hal! Cousin Bobby! Hal! Dad!”, Charlie kept saying on the ride in. Charlie said his hello’s and went off for dinner with my parents and was conked out on the couch when—it was past midnight—we got back. “He kept looking out the window, and then he fell asleep,” said my dad.

Charlie dozed off in the back seat beside me as we drove Cousin Bobby to JFK Airport and then I, then Jim, slid into sleep on the couch (it’s blue, beat-up and the slipcovers washed to faded softness, and accordingly conducive to moments of narcolepsy). We woke up just as Davidson College lost to Kansas and Jim took out the bikes.

At first, Charlie kept putting his toes down and walking his bike, and making it clear he was not happy. He was riding his still new red bike: It’s a mountain bike with a sturdy frame–no kid stuff. I ran down the street after Jim and Charlie when Charlie was tiptoe-bike-riding and Jim and I gently urged “pedal!”.

When I turned back towards home, Charlie’s unhappy voice could still be heard. With a “why not” feeling, I pulled out his old yellow bike and—not sure the old dictum of “once you learn to ride a bike, you never forget” would hold—pulled myself up. I went around the block, suddenly more aware of where there was a pothole, where a slight incline, and the coolness of early spring. I remembered when I last rode a bike everywhere, some fifteen years ago in Connecticut. I thought of the red bike I had that was stolen, and how a friend found a grass green Schwinn for sale in front of a thrift store and raced to tell me. I thought of how many mile I once biked.

Charlie grinned and skipped on the sidewalk when he saw me riding his old bike. Jim reported that they had made it to the center of the town and then Charlie just got going—”I think he’s aware of the power of the bike, and what he can do on it,” said Jim. Just as we’re trying always to understand the power inside Charlie that’s poised to come up and show us places we’ve never seen—have yet to see.