Painful Perseverence

So tonight Spills wandered mournfully into my room and tumbled onto the bed. She was a small bundle of sweaty depression. She'd been outside with her Dad. Meanwhile, I'd had a blissfully silent bath.

"Did you have fun?" I asked after a minute, looking down at her.

"Rmmmf," from under her arm.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked up at me, and tears filled her eyes. "I'm having a bad day."

I sat down beside her. "Really? I thought you had such a good day. You had fun with your friends in French. Your friend made you a friendship bracelet, and a card that said, "I love you." We had a picnic beside the lake. You did crafts this afternoon. "

"But I can't. Ride. My. Bike."

"Ahh."

This has been the ongoing saga for the last while. Donna can ride her bike. Simon can ride his bike. The whole world can ride its bike no-handed, balancing on one toe, while Spills cannot. And it has not come instantly, despite evening practice sessions with her Dad.

"Well, you know," I said, "it took me a long time to figure out how to ride my bike. And you know what happened when I did? I took off on Grandpa, because I thought I'd ride around the block and surprise everyone. Except on the other side of the block I fell off, and then I couldn't figure out how to start it again. And I had to walk all the way home with my bike."

"Was Grandpa mad?"

"I don't think so. Maybe a little. He was probably worried, I guess."

She sighed. "Will I ever ride my bike?"

"Of course you will! And then the world will be your oyster. We'll go for bike rides everywhere. Here's how it will work. You will try and fall over. You will try and fall over. You will try and fall over. That will happen a lot of times. But one day - it will CLICK!"

She stared at me. "Will it make a noise?"

"Will what make a noise?"

"The click."

"Oh," I said. "Well, no, I don't think so."

"Just loudly inside your head," she said, with the beginning of satisfaction.