Vincent Paul, a True Kid of His Word

Our Vincent has jumped the gun on his fast-approaching self-set deadline.

Last week, he told me a few times that he wanted to ride his bike, and that he was ready to do it. But the weather didn't exactly play along, and on a deep gray morning without rain, Vincent and I came to an agreement: he would ride his bike to kindergarten on the condition that if it didn't go well, he would walk the rest of the way. Deal.

Only, as Vincent was gripping the handlebars and ringing the bike bell, and I was rummaging for his helmet, a bawling Kilian came stomping up the road in the opposite direction of that which I'd sent him minutes before, with a headless Tigger umbrella in one hand, and Tigger's sundered plastic head in the other. That turned into a Fiat escort morning, and Vincent didn't get another chance to try the bike until Friday afternoon.

Vincent has been suffering in the shadow of his big brother just a little lately, and needs to be able to do things that make him feel important. So when Kilian set off for chess on Friday afternoon, I asked Vincent if he wanted to ride his bike to the pumpkin patch with me to get pumpkins and gourds for our doorstep. He readily agreed, clicking the chinstrap on his little silver bike helmet.

To avoid traffic, I took Vincent on a fairly long route. He did so well, and he was really proud of himself, too. He was fairly wobbly at the outset, but the bike he's using was formerly his balance bike, so he was able to just push himself along when he felt unsure.

The pumpkin patch isn't really so much a pumpkin patch as it is a pay-as-you-go pumpkin pile. I think Vincent picked out about twenty gourds. At 70 cents a pop, that adds up! When I told him we'd have to thin our selection, his main criterion was whether he had picked the gourd (keep!) or I had (toss!). We still had a lot of fun. When we got back to the house, I told him that he could arrange the gourds. The first thing he did was to place a little yellow one high in the pine tree. I told him it wasn't Christmas, and I'm pretty sure that Vincent's decorating was the neighbors' afternoon entertainment.

The bike that Vincent has been riding is the smallest of the bikes in the garage, and would have been the right size at the other end of 4 years old. He is really excited to be riding a bike now. This afternoon, there was a mass of children clattering up and down our street on just about any set of wheels that you can imagine. Vincent joined in with his bike. It's much too small for him now. His knees and elbows poke out; it's like a clown bike. We have a bike that's the right size for him, the one Kilian got for his fifth birthday. I asked Vincent when he'd start riding it.

„When I'm five, Mom.“