I learned to ride a bicycle on my own, falling, hurting myself again, and again. I had stubbornly taken this challenge on myself that I would surprise my father when I would learn to ride it. The first time I learned to balance it and paddle my way, I didn't know there was a brake to control the speed. I card my father and told him "see papa I can ride the bicycle." As I pushed the paddle and balanced, I sped up out of excitement and fell down miserably after hitting the wall. My father ran to pick me up, my knees were bleeding profusely. I waited till the injury healed and then began practicing again but applying breaks on regular intervals to get the thrill. Then again when I felt I am ready to ride, I called my father to see my progress. When I started riding a motorcycle was approaching me, I panicked and applied breaks, then fell off the cycle again hurting my elbows and knees badly. My father ran again to fetch me up and cleaned my wounds. I was crying in pain. I resumed my bicycle practice after the wounds healed. After that I fell down from the bicycle multiple times only this time I didn't ask my father to watch over me because I took it as a promise that I won't fall in Infront of my father. So I learned it on my own.
Last evening when I was sitting on the stairs to the terrace and reading my book, a grandfather and granddaughter duo were trying to ride a bicycle. The granddaughter almost the age of 4-5 was yelling at her grandfather when she couldn't ride on her own yet the grandfather was patiently helping her to ride it.
I don't have any recollection of my time spent with my grandfather and I only know him through my father's words and his memories. If I could go back to my childhood I would have asked my father every time I rode and fall down from the bicycle. Also, I miss my grandfather a lot.