I was surprised by her willingness to try. Even though I believed she could have learned to ride a two-wheeler years ago, I had stayed patient and hoped she would develop a desire to try.

I flashed back to many of my experiences with her when she was younger. So often I was confused about how to respond, especially when things got messy emotionally. Her mom often saved me and came to the rescue.

I felt more in my element now. There was teaching to be done. Clear steps would be taken with a desired result. This was the territory of a father!

“Daddy, keep it steady!” As I helped her to balance on the bike, I wondered what the instructions should be to help her on her first ride. Should I fill her head with instructions, or should I just push her and let her go? “Daddy, let’s go, push me!” She answered my question, and I started to push.

So here I was, pushing my daughter towards a little more independence. Helping her to learn a skill she’d have for the rest of her life. One small step away from dependence on her parents and towards an eventual life of her own.

I ran alongside her, and then I let her go.

She wobbled a bit, but she started down the road. I felt excitement, exhilaration, and sadness all at once. “Keep pedaling, keep pedaling!” I shouted.

She stopped abruptly and turned around. “Daddy, stop yelling that, you’re making me almost fall!”

The hissing sound was the deflation of a fathers’ pride. “Sorry, honey, go ahead.” I muttered. It looked like I’d still be waiting for my first “perfect” fathering moment.

Moments later, Sarah came by on her bike and gave me a look that showed pure joy and excitement. She had overcome her fear and was bursting with pride. It brought a tear to my eye and an immense gratitude for being so very lucky.

I won’t soon forget the look she gave me, and I hope she won’t ever forget this moment we shared together.

It may not have been perfect, but it certainly was enough.