"Don't cry. It's just a little scrape," the father said lifting the boy off the ground and dusting him off.

The boy saw his father smile. Still dirty and dressed in his work clothes. He smelled like the tar he used to install and repair roofs. To most it was a disgusting smell, like old boots being burned up. It smelled like love to the boy, he got excited when that smell would waft into the home. He wiped his tears and put on his best mean mug. He walked over to grass and picked up his bike. A quick and stern nod to his father.

This time he pushed off and his father held him as he pedaled. The boy was focused on the sidewalk ahead of him. He wouldn't let his dad down. He noticed his father's hands weren’t holding on to him anymore and panicked. Terrified, the boy looked behind him to see is father three houses back. He had let go a long time ago. The boy rode with confidence from there. He could do it, he knew he could. He had just done it.

There was one problem, the boy didn't know how to stop yet. He did the only thing that could come to mind. He rode into the grass to slow down. It was working great until he hit a hole and fell again. He didn't cry this time, and he didn't wait for his dad to pick him up. Instead he was back on his bike and headed for home before his dad could reach him.

"Pedal backwards," the dad yelled out to his son.

This time the boy didn't have to dive into the grass to stop. The bike came to a quick stop, back wheels lifting off the ground briefly, but no falling this time. The boy had mastered riding a bike. At least, the most he could for today. He had spent the whole day trying to teach himself to ride. All it took was a few minutes with dad and he was a pro.