One small step

Daniel and I talked again about the bike, mostly me talking. One thing about him, he is more likely to go along with a new idea if he gets to negotiate the terms; so we talked about riding soon; I'll narrow it down to a specific date and time when everything seems in optimal alignment. the last thing I want is to make it a frustrating or traumatic first experience.

I understand his caution. For one thing, he tends to process things more slowly, probably because his frame of reference is narrower. Also, most of his life is beyond his control. Teachers, therapists, surgeons, and parents all tell him what to do, often things that, and the reasons for, that make no real sense to him and are certainly not things he would freely choose to do. And there are few places so powerless as this stoker's seat, in which all one can do is hold on. So when he has power, even the power to say no, he tends to exercise it. He knows he can always change his mind later, but it's hard to go back. As for trauma, if he has a seriously bad experience he'll really dig in his heels. Like when I pinched Anna's neck once while fastening her bike helmet -- it was really hard to get her to let me approach her neck again, much less put the helmet on her again.

Or more broadly, like her elevator experience when she was about five years old. I was getting on an elevator in the condo we lived in at the time, with both kids. Just as the doors were about to close on the three of us, Daniel dashed out; I stepped out to get him, the doors closed behind me and Daniel, and off Anna went, alone. I could hear her screaming from two stories up. It was years before we could get her to willingly ride an elevator again, and she still prefers the stairs. And has not quite yet forgiven me.

So I counted it as a big step forward when I got Daniel to let me adjust his helmet and have him wear it around the house for a bit. One small step toward a ride, one giant leap toward a shared century.