“Mom, stay right here.” That was my daughter’s request every time she climbed onto her bicycle. For the longest time, learning to ride wasn’t really about learning to ride. It was about knowing I was there. She wanted my hand somewhere close – sometimes on her shoulder, sometimes near the back of the bike – as a quiet confirmation that if she wobbled, if she fell, if fear took over, I would be there to catch her. And I was. I walked beside her. …
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