Summertime
by Patricia Darak
Thirty days ago, my daughter and her father were repairing her bike’s flat tire when she decided that she wanted the training wheels removed. When I asked her why, she said that she was tired of still having them on; she thought that she would be able to ride faster without them.
So, twenty-nine days ago, she practiced riding around the neighborhood. She grew increasingly frustrated by her lack of balance, but refused to quit. After about an hour of trying, she declared that she was tired and that she wanted to “try again tomorrow.”
Twenty-eight days ago, she woke up early with the sole intention of riding her bike. She and I walked out to our practice area, and I walked alongside her (she being already astride the bicycle), giving encouragement to her. After wobbling through several attempts, we decided that I would sit on the curb and bear silent witness, clapping only with the completion of an entire balanced lap.
As soon as the immediate ‘spotlight’ was no longer on her performance, she entered an entirely focused state of mind. After about thirty minutes, she was riding like a champion. Even her brother’s loud chattering from our nearby backyard only briefly distracted her from her goal. After about a total of an hour and fifteen minutes, she had accomplished her goal to her satisfaction, and we went home to a well-deserved water break, and then dinner.
Since then, all she’d been able to think about was riding her bicycle, and we all encouraged her as much as possible.
But, like all new obsessions, ardor’s flame lowered until her brand new skill became just one more thing that she does well.
On to the next thing . . .
Since getting her laptop computer for her eighth birthday, my daughter (and, indeed, all three of our children) had become very enthusiastic chess players. Over and over, her computer chess program had endured – and survived – numerous attempts at being conquered.
In between the on-screen games, their father introduced the physical equivalent by bringing out his antique inlaid chessboard and hand-carved pieces. So, the children learned long-range strategy and theory. They began to speak the language of the immersed. Questions were asked using chess terms, and they noticed how often chess was referred to in real life. Their father gave up making other plans when a chess tournament was in the offing. They became quite accomplished, and like all accomplishments, the novelty soon faded.
On to the next thing . . .
For some unexplained reason, all three children became enthralled with matching games. Luckily, we just happened to have one. And so, friendly games became launching pads for competitive rivalries. Who would get the most matched pairs of cards in the shortest amount of time? Certainly not their parents. When we settled down for a game involving our whole family of five, Mommy and Daddy invariably went down in defeat. Game after game, the competition heated up and concentration was honed to a laser focus; they wanted to win.
So far, the interest is still on the matching game. But, it won’t be long until something new comes along. I fact, I’m sure of it. Why, just the other day, we were all out in the backyard, building raised garden boxes for the seeds that had been germinating in our small indoor greenhouse.
Are we on to the next thing? Something tells me that we’re about to find out. And that’s not even really mentioning the hikes up nearby mountains, camping out under the beautiful stars, informal softball and soccer games in the backyard, and bringing our rosebushes back to life.
Ahh . . . summertime.
