"Are you sure you want to try without your training wheels?"

My tiny head bobbed rapidly up and down like bobble-head doll. "Yes!" I exclaimed for the fifth time that day. My dad simply smiled and took out one of his many tool cases. "Alright then..."

I pouted childishly and crossed my slightly-chubby and heavily-freckled arms. I knew he thought I wasn't ready yet, but I was already six years and three quarters old!

And of course Melanie had been riding a two-wheeler since she was five; by now she had already moved on to riding with no hands!

"Here you go." My daddy stated with a flourish as he handed me my training wheels and lifted the now two-wheeled bike off of his work-bench. I clapped my hands together gleefully as I took the bike by the handles and led it out of the garage. My dad followed behind me and called "Want a push?"

At first, I was tempted to answer "No!", but then I realized that I had no clue how to start on a two-wheeler.

I nodded silently.

My dad grinned and set me on the bike, clasping the handlebars over my own tiny hands.

"Ready?" he whispered. I nodded vigoriously again, determined to master the art of riding a two-wheeled bicycle.

"All right then...here we go!"

With that, he gave a me a push and I frantically started to pedal. Fear raced through me as I struggled to tame the wobbling bike under me, but my legs were too weak to gain the speed needed to keep the bike balenced and in motion. I sped on for another couple of feet before I lost control.

The bike tilted to the side and fell to the ground, me on top of it.

My father ran to my now sobbing and bleeding form and quietly wiped my tears. He told me that everything would be ok before turning his attention to the large scrap on my knee.

"Just a scratch...you'll be back here and riding like a pro in no time." he said softly into my ear as he picked me up into his arms. I shook my head "No! I don't wanna try again!" I whimpered helplessly as tears ran down my red cheeks. "Never again ever, never again, daddy!"

Another smile lit his cheeks before he gently kissed my forehead. "Oh, honey...now why would you say something like that?"

I pointed pitifully down at my skinned knee and whined "Hurts too much..."

He chuckled and unlocked the door to our house. He set me down and together we walked hand in hand to the bathroom. He promptly opened the medicine cabinet, which I was told NEVER to open until I was old enough (not that I could reach it anyway), and pulled out some disinfectant and a brand new pack of band-aids.

He swiftly cleaned the cut before bathing it in the disinfectant. Then, he slapped a 'Barney' band-aid on it and announced "Good as new."

I wasn't listening; still too busy nursing my pain and attempting to piece together my shattered six year old pride at the same time. He cleared his throat, unsure if I had heard him and repeated "You're good as new now...so do you want to give it another go?"

I shook my head and buried my head between my knees. My dad picked me up and set me on my feet before stating "You know...you are never going to learn how to ride a bike if you give up now. The worst that could happen has already happened. You can't get much worse than a scrapped knee if you try again."

"But it hurts...!" I cried, rubbing at the dull ache on my kneecap. My dad nodded and placed his hand on my shoulder "Sometimes trying will hurt, but you'll just have to learn how to pick yourself up again."

"Can't you help me?" I begged. "Can't you just hold on for a bit?"

He shook his head. "I can give you a push, but the rest is all you. It's a big responsiblity to ride a big-kid's bike, Sarah. You have to learn how to do it all on your own, but once you learn, you never truly forget and it will come easier to you every time you ride."

I lowered my gaze to the floor. He exhaled and brushed past me.

"Tomorrow, perhaps." I heard him say before he left the room to go and collect my bike left carelessly out on the side of the road.

The next day, I got back on that bike, recieved a quick push from my mom, and road around the entire cul-de-sac once without falling.

Nearly ten years later, our situations have been reversed.

I am now the guiding hand that provides the push needed to gain momentum and he is the scared child now taking his life, his responsiblities into his own hands.

I exhaled and turned away for a moment, glaring at his back out of the corner of my eye.

Did he deserve this chance, this head-start? I closed my eyes and relaxed my neck in thought. Finally, the words came to me.

"Are you willing to get back up again?"

He stiffened, frowning at the question. "What?" he inquired, turning back to look at me in confusion. I exhaled again, tears welling in my eyes as I whispered "If you should fall...will you get back up and continue to try; no matter how much it hurts to pick yourself up and try again?"

I waited for a few seconds, the lump rising in my throat before he finally nodded. I swallowed hard and took my place behind him once again, clasping the handlebars over his warm hands.

"Goodluck, Daddy..." I breathed, closing my eyes as I pushed forward.