I never really understood the phrase “Those who can, do; those who can't, teach”. I mean, how can someone who can’t do a certain activity be able to teach others to do it? To me, it didn't make sense. Life, however, decided that I needed to experience what this phrase meant; strangely enough, this experience involved bicycles. 

The sky was painted a dark hue of lilac as the sun slowly made its way down the horizon. The old church and its grounds were bathed in calming oranges. The church’s parking lot was as empty as a desert; no cars and no people. Even the local wildlife was missing. No birds were chirping, no insects were buzzing, not even the wind made any sound. It was all total silence. The perfect location, in my mother’s opinion, to learn how to ride bicycles for me and my sister.

My mother sat on the white curb, watching me and my sister continuously wobble and lurch on our bikes. Like bronking horses, the bikes tossed me and my sister off and into the hard cement. We'd get back on and the process would repeat. Each time we fell, we yell and cry our frustrations.  To such cries, my mother replied,” Pedal faster! Concentrate on the pedaling!”

With our mother’s urging, we both got on our bikes once more. At this point, I wanted to give up. I thought, “I don't wanna do this anymore. I want my training wheels back.” However, my determination wouldn't allow me to quit. My face scrunched up as the bicycle unsteadily rode on the cement. I shook until my face once again hit the concrete ground, gaining new scratch marks. My sister had similar results. Again, we cried out to give up and just go home, but our mother was persistent. She yelled, “Try again. Concentrate on your pedaling!”

With grim attitudes and scratched skins, my sister and I got back on our disobeying bicycles. As I wobbled, I cleared my mind. No more “I wanna give up” or “This is hard” thoughts, only what my mother told me. With her words in my mind, I solely concentrated on the black pedals under my feet. Up and down they went, pushing the wheels forward. As I rode, I stopped shaking, I stopped wobbling, and the bike stopped fighting against me.

The silence that claimed the church’s grounds was broken with the sound of the rushing wind in my ears. The same rushing wind cooled my skin as I rode on; the sharp pain that came from my scratches suddenly disappeared. I felt my heart racing as I gained speed. Elation flowed through my veins as I drew circles on the parking lot. “I am doing it. I did it! Mama look!” I hollered as I rode on.
     

Looking over to my sister, I saw that she was shaking on her pink bicycle. I told her,” Concentrate on your pedaling, don’t worry about losing your balance!” She kept falling a few times, but eventually she to master her bike. Her face displaying the widest grin I have ever seen. We continued to ride on in the little parking lot, shouting and whooping our celebration.

We didn't leave until the sky turned a darker hue of violet and the sun, at this point, was only a yellow line on the horizon. My mother was too nervous to let us use our newfound skills to ride back home, so we put our bicycles in the trunk and headed home in my mother’s navy blue car.  As we drove away, I and my sister were talking how exciting it was that we finally obtained this new skill. “You guys should feel very proud. I know am, especially since I didn't really believe that I could teach you guys,” my mother said.

My sister and I looked at each other confusingly, and then I asked,” Well…why not?”

My mother replied,” I don't actually know how to ride a bicycle myself.”