Razor Scooter Lessons
A few weeks ago I was at the park with my wife, sitting down to eat our lunch—a burger for me, and Chipotle for her—when she realized she forgot to grab a fork.
She was fine with staying, and as fun as watching her try to use tortilla chips as a utensil would’ve been, I suggested we head home to eat. On our way to the car, I saw a young girl un-gracefully making her way down the path on roller skates, her Mom following close behind, and instantly was struck by the thought that my kids needed their own adventure on wheels.
The next weekend, after getting a tricycle for my two year old, I took my seven year old to Walmart to get a bike. To my surprise, their selection of bikes was embarrassingly small, so after some back and forth, we settled for a Razor scooter instead, both of us thinking it would be easier to ride than a bike anyway.
We were mistaken.
We arrived at the park later that day, tricycle and scooter in tow, and went to a smooth stone path where, in my mind, they were going to burn rubber and take off.
In reality, my son chose to use his feet, ignoring the peddles’s existence completely. And my daughter attempted to ride the scooter, almost busted her butt, and shot back a look of pure betrayal.
To both of our surprise, riding a Razor scooter is a different level of difficulty than the pink polka-dotted Minnie Mouse one she used to ride (which now that I think about it, had two wheels in front and one in back... oops).
Attempt after attempt I watched her get on the scooter, drive herself forward, and at best get a few kicks in before nearly eating dirt. And attempt after attempt, I saw her excitement wane, and her commentary get more negative:
“This isn’t fun dad.”
“Why can’t I do this?”
“Ugh. I don’t wanna.”
After much coaching on my part, and not much success on her’s, we called it quits for the day, enjoyed some popsicles from the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot, and then headed home for dinner.
The next day we took the scooter out to a long, straight strip of sidewalk in the neighborhood, and I was determined to teach her to ride this damn thing. Unfortunately, neither of us were at our best that morning. Her, again feeling very negative, and me, short on patience. After a lot of frustration on both of our parts, I had her set the scooter down, take a seat next to me on the sidewalk, and relax for a second. We needed a reset.
I gave her some tough love on resilience, grit, and the importance of what we tell ourselves.
“If you keep saying you can’t do this, do you think that helps you or hurts you?”
For my part, I had to be more patient, and not let her frustration become mine, or even worse, make her more frustrated. We got up to try again with a new approach—I broke things down into the absolute smallest steps I could imagine. And with her renewed attitude, things started to click.
When she got one step down, I gave her another to work on, and whenever she messed up, I encouraged her to stop, reset, and start again. Her balance improved, and she was able to glide longer and longer without stopping.
Instead of looking back at me frustrated, she was looking back smiling, saying “dad look!”, with all the excitement I hoped this would bring her. I’d give a thumbs up and a big smile, and let her know she was doing great. By the end of the session, she was tired, but smiling ear to ear. I was tired too, but felt accomplished.
I reflected for a while afterwards, on why I was short on patience, and remembered my own experiences growing up. How frustrated my Mom would often get trying to teach us the most mundane things. How she once exploded on me because I couldn’t tie my shoe fast enough, and how odd it is that I remember that moment, despite me being only a few years old at the time.
I thought about how we can easily repeat learned behaviors, even painful ones, if we don’t make a conscious effort to know ourselves, and break old patterns.
It’s been a few weeks, and I’m proud to report that my daughter now cruises up and down the sidewalk every chance she gets. I’m also proud to report I’ve been continuing to work on my patience, with my kids and with myself, and I’d say I’m doing a pretty good job.