The training wheels,
Now just a scrap of metal on the ground,
A heap I could leave behind,
As I staggered with my two-wheeled bike in tow

It screeched and wobbled,
Jerking from side to side as I walked it
Onto the battlefield of the side alley,
Where I would face the iron grip of fear

And grandfather smiled his warm smile,
Held my sweaty palms,
His skin very soft and wrinkly,
And his pulse steady against my arm,
As he planted me onto the seat,
And I tried to earn the trust of the flimsy pedals below me

I screeched,
I wobbled from side to side,
I thrashed,
And tears leaked out of my eyes,
Like a broken pipe,
And I hissed at him,
My face heated and temper white-hot,
Only to realize I was nestled against him the whole time,
His hands keeping me in place,
I was fine,
And I was the only one who had let go

I took his hand again,
And allowed him to show me the way

I fell off and yelled,
Only to get my hair ruffled,

Three more attempts,
Now six,
Now ten,
The whole afternoon spent out there,
A rickety emotional rollercoaster on my end,
Where my anger switched on and off,
And I quit several times,
Out of order

But each time he sat by me,
Hugged me closer,
Wiped my tears with large, firm hands,
And planted me back onto the bike,
To try again

Another few hours and I could ride,
But that bike is now rusty,
The pedals do not move so well

But as I watch my sister struggle with her homework,
After I explained it eight times,
And she gets up and lashes out,
I feel the hands of my grandfather
Plant my hands tenderly on hers
To pull her back to her seat,
And try, try again