Tricycles and Sport’s Cream..….

 Just recently, our number-six grandchild, Clark, has literally been obsessed with being NUMBER ONE, to the point of losing sight of the fun.  He thinks he has to win at all the video games (and most of the time he does win).  He tries to be first at buckling his seat-belt in the car.  If we are first to open the front door, he has a melt-down on the porch.  When we race the model cars down the ramp, he wants to move the tally-blocks to his stack whether he wins or not.  Then, in the checker game, he wanted me to put my spoils back until he could jump some of mine!
 In an attempt to teach Clark to be a good sport, Irwin and I try to take Clark to a park for a couple of hours, everyday.  Even the very hot and the very cold days, we go for a brief time.  He loves to make friends and is thrilled to run and play; and the whole time he is giggling and laughing with the other kids. 

 Thinking Clark would get interested in playing at home, some, Irwin bought him a beginner bicycle.  I felt he needed the eye/hand coordination along with the motor-skills of riding a tricycle, first.  He played in the driveway until I felt it was almost cruel to expect him to just continuously go in 20-foot circles.  Besides, he didn’t seem interested enough to ride but about 5 minutes a day.  (I just can’t understand why Clark didn’t prefer the slow, geriatric pace of his 70-year-old grandparents to a playground full of lively, active, energetic preschoolers.  Could it be his grandparents spent too much time breaking to rub Sports Cream on our aches and pains?)  So, I packed up the van with his “Big-Wheel” tricycle and plenty of ice-water & orange Gatorade (plus my large tube of Sports Cream) and we “started off to move the mountain!”  We stopped by the Day-Old Bread Store and purchased a large bargain bag of “bird bread” to feed the ducks (about 10 loaves for 88-cents).  By the time we got to the park, Clark had already eaten nearly half a loaf of “bird bread” and at least one small bottle of orange Gatorade…..but that’s okay, because I knew that he would run it off in no time.

 The “Big Wheel” was such a success that parents were amazed that the kids were so congenial and cooperative.  As weeks passed, the “Big Wheel Track” was getting very popular with more and more kids.  I must say that Clark was doing exceptional as an entrepreneur.  Clark ran around the track with each child just because he loves the fun and he loves to run!

We had a chance to buy another Hot Wheel to take with us to the park.  It was fun until one morning, when an older boy, about 7, came and got in the line to ride.  Clark greeted him nicely and instructed him about the rules on sharing:

·        Sit in line on the brick wall and wait your turn.

·        Ride one lap only.

·        Take a water break between laps.

·        Remember safety issues.

·        Slow down around toddlers, adults, and etc.

·        Arguments….and we put the toy in the car!

All was good until the older boy, riding one tricycle, passed Clark, riding the other tricycle.  Clark didn’t race the boy;  he didn’t even try to challenge him.   Clark slowed to a complete stop and began to wilt.  He dropped his shoulders.  His arms hung to his side as his head bowed.  His chin rested on his chest.  Then in slow motion, he tilted over to one side and slowly melted…. Ending up crumpled on the sidewalk.  I approached him; put my arms around him and asked if he was hurt.  He responded from his prone position, “I’m okay….but that big boy is winning!”

In my most understanding but firm voice,  “Your race is not over, why are you giving up?  Get back on your tricycle; put your feet on the pedals and keep moving toward the finish-line.  “Riding” your tricycle is the fun thing…. You need to keep riding to the finish line!  The “ride” is the most important!”

A week later, I was sitting in the doctor’s office when my doctor told me that my mammogram showed a malignant mass.  I felt my breathing slowed to a complete stop and I began to wilt.  My shoulders dropped.  My arms hung to my side.  My head bowed until my chin rested on my chest.  Then I felt myself want to tilt over to one side and melt… I wanted to crumple onto the floor.  I felt my God’s arms wrap around me and firmly say, “Don’t fall off your tricycle!  The race is not over, why are you giving up?  Get back on your tricycle, put your feet on the pedals, and keep moving toward the finish-line.  The “ride” is the most important thing!”