He said 'car' almost as soon as he said 'mama'.
The boy was born to ride. At two, he could make his Fred Flinstone car turn on a dime.
At three, he could make the Red Flier fly.
He rode this so much and so fast he wore the toes out of EVERY pair of his shoes:
Then it was time for the bicycle. The training wheels were on and things were going great until that fateful July 4th night, when legs and bicycle wheels tangled and tooth battled concrete and concrete won. He went from this:
The biking mojo was gone. He left the bike virtually untouched for over a year. We tried to get him to ride again, but his knees knocked and his courage floundered....until Friday. That day he said to me, "I want to learn to ride my bike." Without a moment's hesitation, I raised the garage door and took the bike outside. Forty-eight hours later, he was ready for the BMX circuit.
Earlier that same Friday, we had given him this Lego set as a reward for his diligent violin practice:
Coincidence? I don't think so.
Whatever it takes.