On My Mother's Birthday...

I still remember this day… Mom patiently chasing after me, helping me keep my balance on my bike in the late 1970s in Englewood, Florida.

I kept falling down over and over again, and she would kindly say, “Come on, Rog, get back up in that saddle.”

I didn’t manage to ride without training wheels that year. It wasn’t until the following summer, when we returned to my family farm in Saybrook, Ohio, that it finally happened. I still clearly remember waking up, running downstairs, and telling Mom, “I’m going to do it! I’m going to ride my bike without training wheels.”

I shot out to the barnyard where Dad was working on a tractor and asked, “Dad, can you take the training wheels off my bike?”

“Are you sure, Rog?” he asked. “You’re about as balanced as a poor man’s checkbook.”

But I insisted, and he pulled out his tools and took the training wheels off.

I jumped on—and just took off, like I’d been riding for years.

I still remember the look of disbelief on Dad’s face.

I rode back up to the house, dropped my bike in the backyard, and ran into the kitchen shouting, “Mom! Mom! I did it! I did it! I rode my bike all by myself!”

She looked down at me, smiled softly, and said, “I knew you could. I just knew you could.”

I miss her—those kind words of encouragement, and the occasional swift kick in the rear when I needed it.

Thank you, Mom.