Ten Speeds, Too Many Words, and Seeing the Trees for the Forest

by Drew Holmes

“Dad,” said Sam, my six-year-old, “What does this word say?”

“Predict,” I said. “But you knew that. You’re a great reader!”

Sam was snuggled up in his green comforter and strawberry sheets reading “Who Would Win? Lion vs. Tiger”, a book about a hypothetical battle between two alpha predator cats. This is not a usual bedtime story, but Sam is not a usual kid. Though an excellent reader, he has not yet developed confidence in his skill so every night while reading to him before bed I try to make a point of having him read to me. His question was my opening.

“Sam,” I continued, “Why don’t you read the rest of the book to me?”

“I can’t!” came his frustrated reply, “There are too many words!”

Immediately I was ten years old again. It was a few weeks before my birthday, and my grandfather was seeking an appropriate present to mark the milestone.

“How would you like a new bicycle?” he asked.

In truth, I would like it very much.

I grew up on Route 18, one of the busiest streets in East Bridgewater, Massachusetts. It had the advantage of being close to the center of town, but the disadvantage of not really having a cohesive neighborhood. Fortunately, my grandparents lived a few miles away and off a dead-end street. The block was teeming with kids my age, so we would spend school-year weekends and endless summers at their house, usually swimming in their frigid in-ground pool. Due to the lack of vehicular traffic I learned to ride a bike on their street, first with training wheels and later without.

I had the same red bike with pedal brakes and yellow banana seat since I was six years old. It was neither stylish nor big enough, but it got me from A to B in the neighborhood. I remember one sweaty summer day on that bike bombing down Shawnee Avenue. At the bottom of the hill was a mound of sand left behind by the snow crews of winter, piled high near the storm drain. I hit the sand at full speed and my out-of-control bike wobbled onto a nearby front lawn. To this day my chin still bears the scar from the rapid deceleration caused by the mailbox.

To an almost ten-year-old on Leland Street, a bike was more than a bike — it was freedom. At first it was a way of seeing your neighborhood friends. When you were old enough it was the means to travel to Mattie’s Corner Market, the deli/convenience store just outside walking distance that had the best selection of candy this side of Skinners. The prospect of a new bike was a big deal.

All of this filled my mind as my grandfather continued to propose his idea. “How about a 10-speed bike?”

“No way!” I objected. “That’s way too many gears for me to manage. I’ll stick with one speed.”

Rather than argue, he stated a simple truth that I carry with me to this day.

“You can only use one of them at a time.”

That was the cosmic kick to the head my soon-to-be-ten-years-old brain needed to break my mental block. I was overwhelmed at the options, but when considering those options, I had to realize that I could only choose one at a time.

My fears allayed, a few weeks later I got one of the greatest birthday presents I will ever receive — a ten-speed bike, grey with a leather saddle and hand brakes. It was my primary mode of transportation for the next six years until I got my driver’s license and traded 10 bicycle speeds for the five gears of a pickup truck’s manual transmission. But the underlying lesson was forever burned into my brain.

“Sam,” I calmly replied to his objection, “yes, there are a lot of words on the page, but you can only read one of them at a time. Be patient and try.”

Slowly he sounded out the words. His confidence grew with each passing page and by the end of the book he was triumphant in his accomplishment.

Sometimes we see the forest and are overwhelmed. Rather than being overwhelmed, focusing on the small pieces and taking them one at a time reduces seemingly impossible tasks to attainable accomplishments. I’m proud of Sam for trying and succeeding in reading the book. Every day he amazes me with what he knows and what he can do. And a few short years from now, I have a great idea for his tenth birthday present.