Yesterday, I helped teach my son how to change a bike tube. Apparently, from the text with Hottie, he didn’t care for it. 😆
I did though. Actually, a lot.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to teach them things they’ll do again in life.
When we were going to swap his bike tube the other day and the night got late enough that we couldn’t get to it, I was bummed. So, when I say I was looking forward to it, it was something deeper for me.
I remember as a kid we were financially tight enough that you don’t change tubes… you patch them.
- unmount the tire
- remove the tube
- fill up the kitchen sink with water
- fill up the tubs as best you could
- dunk the tube in the water and look for the leak
- mark it
- scuff it up
- apply glue
- put the patch on
It’s kinda’ weird typing this, because a memory that keeps coming to me is changing bike tubes with my step dad. He was an abusive alcoholic.
While childhood wasn’t ideal, he had his good moments. The older I get I don’t know that I forgive-forgive him, but I’m becoming more flexible on the resentment.
Changing bike tubes with him in the front yard at a very specific childhood house keeps coming to mind. And it feels like positive memories.
I’m grateful to be grateful. To teach my kid things, but without the wildcard of mixed memories of good and trauma. Just… good.
I’m sure he doesn’t like all my parenting decisions, but breaking generational cycles on both me and Hottie’s side is what I’m most proud of accomplishing.
