Dear Elli,
You cannot ride a bicycle. You will be seven years old this year, and you cannot ride a freaking bicycle. I'm not sure how you received this anti-bicycle DNA, but it surely isn't my fault. It must come from your father's side of the family.
You are afraid of your bicycle. You are afraid to go fast. You are afraid to go slow. You cannot make it up a gently sloping hill in our neighborhood because you are afraid to pedal while standing up.
You closely resemble an eighty year old woman while attempting to ride your bicycle. I should've bought you a Buick and a sewing machine instead of a bicycle.
I've done everything in my power to help you. I'm not shitting you. I've been patient and reassuring. I've challenged you to overcome your fear. And today, I called you a giant wussy. That probably wasn't my greatest parenting moment, but I'm trying my best not to cry. Because that's really what I want to do right now.
You cannot NOT know how to ride a bicycle! The mere thought of a human being who cannot ride a bicycle is absurd. I've never met a single able-bodied person in my entire life who cannot ride a bicycle.
This is the type of shit that made me join a wine club.
I love you very much, but I'm not going to let this bicycle thing go. So help me God, you will be riding a bicycle by the end of the summer. If you don't, I'm sending you to boarding school.
Mom (bicycle rider since 1987)
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