Daddy's Little Girl

It was another serene evening in our suburban neighborhood. Outside, you could hear the occasional laughter of children playing tag and barks of dogs excited about a passing ice-cream truck. We all had our fill of stew and rice. Despite, our full stomachs, we couldn't miss out on the red-orange sunset in the air. I was too little, too imbalanced to ride on my own set of wheels. In order to capture the moment, I surrendered myself in the backseat of my father's bicycle and felt the wind run through my petite fingers. My father's strong grip on the handlebars navigated us down street after street. There were times when I would squirm impatiently because I wanted to get a clearer picture of Mother Nature around us. But no, it was always the "sit back or you'll fall". My curiosity settled inside me with burning intensity. I didn't understand why I couldn't be in control, why I couldn't explore what my father has been exploring for decades. I never thought it was fair. My father would continue to smile, while breathing in the night air and telling me his insightful views on life, which I took for granted and hardly listened to at the time. Trip after trip, I would get restless about not being in control of the wheels. I'm not sure when the fire of defiance in me burned out. I was no longer the anxious toddler. Until one day, my father presented me with a bike of my own. I was overjoyed and climbed on to finally go on my own journey. After a few pedals, I heard scratches behind me. It cut through the supposedly calm state of a bike ride. Training wheels. I never felt more challenged to show that I could bike like my father. During the period of time I was trying to master the training wheels and gain enough speed to prove my worth, I totally disregarded the usual bonding time I had with my father. Seasons changed along with my bike. It was only a set a wheels I saw on my bike one evening. I was ready. I took off shakily at first but learned to grip strong and move forward. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of my father on our driveway. He looked at me and smiled, but I "sensed a different message." My desire for control escaped me during those seconds. I stopped pedaling and let the wheels carry me forward, farther away from my father. It wasn't only the physical distance between us increasing; I knew it was time for him to let go of his grip on the handlebars and allow me to take over. It was then when I realized that  my father's "stay back or you'll fall" was always to protect me, not to confine me. Part of me didn't want to make it to the end of the street because I knew some day I would no longer be daddy's little girl.