But what if I break my arm again? my 5-year-old daughter asked.
I knew how much she wanted to learn to ride, Yet ever since she'd fallen off her bike and broken her arm, she'd been afraid.
Oh honey, I said, I do not think you will break another arm.
But I could, couldn't I?
Yes, I admitted, and found myself struggling for the right thing to say.
I do not think I want to ride, she said and got off her bike.
We walked away and sat down beside a tree.
Do not you want to ride with your friends? I asked, And I thought you were hoping to start riding your bike to school next year, I added.
I was, she said in a low voice.
You know, honey. I said, Almost everything you do comes with risks. You could break your arm at gymnastics. Do you want to stop going to the gym?
No, of couse not. she replied, And with a determined spirit, she stood up and agreed to try again. I held on to the back of her bike untile she found the courage to say, Let's go.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the park watching a very brave little girl overcome her fear, and congratulating myself for being an independent single parent.
As we walked home, pushing the bike as we made our way along the sidewalk, she asked me about a conversation she'd overheard me having with my mother the night before.
Why were you and Gramma arguing last night?
It is nothing, I told her.
She shrugged, Grandma said she just wanted you to find someone to love.
What Grandma wants is for some guy to break my heart again, I snapped.
But mom
you are too young to understand, I told her.
She was quiet for the next few minutes.then she looked up and in a small voice said, So I guess love isn't like a broken arm.
Unable to answer, we walked the rest of the way in silence, when I got hom, I let go and agreed to meet a man called Jack.
Steve was the man for me. We married less than a year later. It turned out my mother and my daughter were right.
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