Balance is the Key

Once you’ve learned, you never forget how to ride a bike. In fact, it gets easier the more you do it. The same cannot be said about teaching a child to ride a bicycle.

Last week I taught my fourth daughter how to ride a bike. I’d forgotten how difficult it is—just as difficult the fourth time as the first.

Mostly it’s hard mentally. There’s a lot of running, to be sure. And sweating. (That was another thing I’d forgotten—not to conduct lessons on 90 degree afternoons.) But the hardest part is the worrying. Worrying that she’ll fall and scrape her knees and elbows. Or worse, that she’ll break a wrist or a tooth.  

I don’t actually remember my father teaching me how to ride a bike. But I remember like it was yesterday the events surrounding the purchase of my first new bicycle—a red and white, 1962 J.C. Higgins Sears Flightliner, with kickback 2-speed hub, full chrome fenders, and fat whitewall tires.

After we bought the bike, my father informed me that the trunk of the family sedan was not big enough to transport the bike from the store to our house, and that I’d have to ride it the three miles home. In my nine years of life, I had never been so scared or so thrilled. Even though my dad drove beside me at nine miles an hour all the way from Sears to our driveway, when I arrived home I felt experienced, worldly, and way cool—as if I’d just returned from a road trip up and down the length of Route 66 in a convertible. 

For years, that bike was my freedom. On summer days—even 90 degree afternoons—I would ride in to the suburban shopping centers, or out the gravel county roads to small neighboring towns. The destinations were never as important as the ride, and the freedom of the ride. 

Which causes me to question the point of teaching my daughter to ride a bike. What will she do with this skill? More to the point, what will I allow her to do with it?

Not much. Beyond the third-grade bike rodeo, I don’t see a lot of bike riding in her future. Too much risk. Or perceived risk. I, we, all of us, have decided that the world beyond our cul-de-sacs is too dangerous to allow our children to ride their bikes out into it. Something bad might happen. I, we, all of us, have decided that safety is more important than freedom. We’re intent on structuring our children’s lives such that all possible risk is eliminated. And if it can’t be eliminated, then managed. Even riding a bike unsupervised down the block to the neighbor’s house is too risky. Something bad might happen between here and there. Better to schedule and plan a play date. Better to manage the risks. Better to keep the bicycle in the garage.

Which causes me to question what kind of executives and professionals will emerge from my daughter’s risk-managed generation. Will kids who were never allowed or encouraged to ride out on their own to experience the risks and rewards that come with that freedom—the risks of injury or taking a wrong turn, the rewards of discovery and achievement—will they have what it takes to lead, or will they be content to manage? Will they be risk averse, always seeking the safest path? Or might they rebel against their parents’ over-protectiveness? Will they become reckless? Will risk taking become an end in itself? 

Are we raising a generation of fearful children who see the world as a dangerous place in which no one can be trusted, where threats lurk around every corner? Or are we raising a generation of children so oppressed by worry and dread that, at the first opportunity, they cast off all reasonable caution and prudence, acting impulsively and irrationally? 

There’s a difference between being fearful and being afraid. Fearfulness is a condition. Being afraid is an event. Leaders aren’t afraid to admit when they’re afraid. They understand that being afraid can be healthy and can alert one to real dangers. But leaders aren’t fearful by nature. In fact, a characteristic of leadership is the ability to inspire others to overcome their own fearfulness and to follow along on a journey toward to common goal. 

A leader gets on a bike and calls out “Come on everybody! You get on your bikes, too! Let’s ride down this road and see where it takes us!”

A leader knows how to get back up after a fall. A leader knows how to find the way back after a wrong turn. A leader knows that riding down a road less traveled can make all the difference. Because a leader’s bicycle never stays in the garage.

Doug Worgul

Managing Editor

DWorgul@IngramsOnLine.com