Yesterday, he couldn’t ride his bike. In fact, he had a meltdown when Papa tried to teach him.

Today he can.

Do you remember the day you learned to ride your bike? I do. I had a Strawberry Shortcake bike, with pink banana seat and red and white streamers. I remember my dad pushing me off, me begging him not to let go and when he did, as all dads do, that feeling of freedom, knowing I was doing it all on my own.

I hope my son felt that today.

I told him he would never forget this day. We marked it with ice cream, as is necessary for any landmark moment.

It’s going by too fast…

I just watched Now and Then, which put me in the mood to write this.

When did we stop believing? I remember when I filled my bed with stuffed animals and had conversations with them until I fell asleep. When I fully believed the tooth fairy left me a dollar for the hollow bloody tooth I left under my pillow. When the world was full of possibilities, and magic was around every corner?

What happened? I believed as a child I’d still believe in magic when I grew up. At one point did I/you/we stop believing in it all?

I remember the day I learned about Santa. My friend (if you can call her that) Courtney just blurted it out in first grade. First grade! Far too young to discover that the world had been stripped of magic. I felt dismayed and disappointed. I wished the magic would last a little longer.

I knew a girl who believed in Santa til 6th grade (or so she said). For Max, I want something between these two scenarios. I want the possibility of magic to live on for him as long as possible. I want him to believe.

I’ve written, though it’s been a while, about how sensitive Max is. He’s been better but still cries if you cut his toast, don’t catch his kiss when he blows it or give him a red shirt when clearly he wants a blue one.

Still, I felt better at soccer practice. Day 1 there was a 6-year-old sobbing like someone was beating him because he did not want to play soccer. I watched his mom coax, cajole and threaten him out of the corner of my eye and I wanted to hug her. Because I understood. Max has done the same thing. (That kid is now the best player on the team a few weeks later).

At their first game, the son of a couple I’ve befriended started crying on the field. He wanted his mommy. She might have been embarrassed, but I knew how she felt. They eventually pulled him and took him home.

He’s not the only one.

When you have one child, you don’t have much to compare to. You can look at other kids but it’s the behind-the-scenes stuff you can’t measure. Is it normal? Are you handling it right? Know what I mean?

By the way, Max is ROCKING at soccer! He’s not the fastest, but he’s dedicated. Sigh of relief.