Personal Narrative: Learning To Ride A Bike

"There is a first time for everything." That's a common saying. Some first times are more memorable than others. The first time, I rode a bike was so memorable it was nearly traumatizing. It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.

I was a late bloomer when it came to riding a bike. I didn't learn until I was nearly eight years old. Now, this may be due to the fact that I was never interested in riding a bike until all my friends could. It didn't really help that I was the smallest and youngest in the group of cousins, so I was always made fun of whenever I tried to ride a bike and failed. Little did I know; my grandma was going to take matters into her own hands.

Every summer, I visit my grandparents in Illinois for two weeks. As it turned out, my grandma had a new surprise for me. She was going to make me learn how to ride a bike. Now, she didn't teach me herself but instead was going to have my grandpa teach me. Teaching slowly wasn't exactly his method. His method could better be described as "forcing to learn."

At first, my grandpa simply told me to get on the bike and pedal. This was preposterous! He expected me to just get on and ride? Nevertheless, I tried. I failed the first time. The second time wasn't much better. Finally, when I fell the third time, I suggested a different method. My method was to hold the back of the bike as I pedaled and let go without my knowledge. Though we did eventually try this, at first my grandpa gave me a look as though what I was suggesting was absolutely absurd. It took a considerable amount of tries, but I eventually figured it