In the spirit of all those graduated students, I thought it would be appropriate to conjure up a metaphor for the journey of a child out of high school into becoming an adult.
When I was around six or seven years old, my father taught me how to ride a bicycle. Now, this metal steed had reverse-pedal brakes and pink "handlebar tape," but it was my first ride nonetheless. I was quite wobbly just starting out, never understanding the balance enough to keep me steady, but I was able to keep myself upright and ride until I was promised some ice cream. (You see, bicycles are pre-programmed to find ice cream; it's built into every ride.)
As I got older, I began moving up in size and quality of bike until I came to ride my little Trek triathlon bike. She's a speedy little stallion, and I wouldn't trade my bike for anything. (My Trek is a road bike.)
I also began mountain biking, reveling in the hearty crunch of rocks beneath the thick tires and absolutely peeing myself when faced with the descents.
Anecdotes aside, there is a way with bicycles that fits with life. You see, up until we as humans are eighteen, our parents teach us how to ride. Now, some kids may only have one wheel (a single parent), or a couple components missing (health issues or familial issues). But up through graduation, we all figure out how to ride the bicycle called life.
Labels in high school are an unfortunately big part of growing up among stereotypes, and these labels are like the brand and physical appearance of our bicycles. What adolescents fail to recognize is the quality of each bike's handling and speed; its "personality" on the road. Bicycles also tip and require a sense of balance to remain upright, hence, with so much seesaw-drama in high school, many students are dinged and scratched, pock-marked and beaten down.
But one only has to get back on the bike, no matter how rough the roads ahead (or the skies above) are. Now, as graduation nears, and the caps (or I suppose helmets would be more appropriate here) are tossed into the air, parents shed tears because they realize their little "Honey bears" and "Cutie pies" are about to take off on their own; no training wheels or Daddy required.
With the final push from their parents (typically in the form of a graduation party or lump sum of money), the child is set free on the open road, tottering around with two feet splayed out to the side, eager for their journey to begin.
However, especially in this day and age, not all of us actually leave home. Some of us ditch our bicycles, opt for the squashy basement-dwelling couch and Modern Warfare 3, and never see the light of day again.
But no matter where you go on your bicycle's journey, always remember one thing: if you have a craving for a a chocolate-dipped strawberry waffle bowl with whipped cream, your bike knows exactly where to go.
*Photo by wasted-photos on deviantArt*
