In the grand scheme of things learning to ride a two-wheeler isn’t that big of a deal. There’s learning to drive, graduating from high school, getting married, or having your first baby. Twenty years from now Rowan is barely going to remember this day, or the moments littered throughout it. He won’t remember that for two hours he struggled up and down the hill in the parking lot, dirt and tears of frustration streaming down his face, but never once quitting. He’s not going to remember how he felt when he screamed, “LET GO!” only to realize that I already had, and he had soared down that hill on his own. He’s not going to remember how he fell, and scraped his knee. He won’t recall how he sulked off to the side of the road, stomped his foot in indignation-sure that it was his bike that was at fault. He won’t recall how his mom stifled a laugh when he beamed, “I did it! I perseveranced and I did it!! He won’t understand how his mom’s chest nearly burst with the amount of pride she felt at literally letting her son go and watching him hold himself up, all by himself. He won’t know how tiny and how big she thought he looked at the same time. He probably won’t remember any of these things…but I will.