Training Wheels & Wish Dolls

Last week, Lucy’s dad helped her shed her training wheels and really ride her bike for the first time. She was thrilled with her newfound skill and couldn’t wait to show me and her visiting Grandma. We sat in the driveway watching her ride for more than an hour and I was so proud of my brave little girl. Ben sat with us much of the time, occasionally getting up to ride his scooter around the cul-de-sac. Even though he cannot ride a bike without training wheels himself, he was not at all jealous of Lucy’s accomplishment. It doesn’t usually occur to Ben to compare himself to other people.

Truth be told, Lucy could have ridden a bike without training wheels years ago, but it never seemed like a big deal to her so I didn’t really encourage her. Riding a two-wheeled bike is a skill I’m not sure is attainable for Ben and though I'm ashamed to admit it, I probably didn’t encourage Lucy because I was worried Ben would feel badly about not being able to do it. I worried needlessly, however. Ben was as happy as he could be for his sister and as far as I could tell, didn't spend one moment bemoaning the fact that she could do something he could not. Ben’s ability to celebrate other people’s accomplishments when many of us would feel frustrated or jealous is one of the purest and most beautiful parts of him.

When Ben was in Kindergarten he made a Japanese Daruma doll at school. A Daruma is a Japanese wish doll. When you receive a Daruma, both of its eyes are empty circles. Tradition dictates that you color in one of the eyes and make a wish or set a goal, then color in the other when the wish is granted or goal attained. When Ben first brought home his Daruma, he couldn’t tell me anything about it.  Kindergarten was Ben’s first time in a general education classroom setting and he was overwhelmed and a little lost that year. Most of the time, he was working so hard on getting his social skills "right" that he didn't fully understand what was going on in the class.  But when the mom of another kid in the class saw Ben’s Daruma sitting in my kitchen window one day, she asked me what Ben’s goal was. When I didn’t know, she explained the tradition and I became curious. I asked Ben’s teacher if she knew what Ben’s goal was. She dug through Ben’s incredibly messy desk and found the written assignment that was meant to come home with the Daruma. Ben’s goal was to ride a bicycle without training wheels. When I showed Ben the paper, he remembered the assignment and the story of the Daruma. He asked if we could keep it in the kitchen window until he was ready to color in the other eye. It’s been there ever since.

Last week, when Lucy rode her bike without the training wheels, I was reminded of Ben’s Daruma. It’s been in the window so long I’ve stopped noticing it. But that day, when Lucy got her training wheels off, I picked up Ben’s Daruma and examined it. I thought about my sweet Ben and some of the things he may not  accomplish... but only for a moment.  Because mostly, when I held that Daruma, I thought of the countless remarkable things he will accomplish.

Ben saw me looking at it and asked if I thought he should let Lucy color in the other eye. "No way, buddy," I told him.  "Lucy has her own wishes, dreams and goals.  This one's yours."  And until he's ready to tackle that goal, I'll keep it safe right here in my kitchen window.  If only I could do the same with all my children's hopes and dreams.