On a sunny Saturday, seven-year-old Mia was learning to ride a bike in the park. Her father ran behind her, holding the back of the seat with both hands. Mia was very nervous. "Don't let go!" she begged. "I won't," he promised. "I'm right here."
The bike wobbled to the left and then to the right, but Mia kept pedaling. Slowly, without noticing, she began to go faster. The wind moved through her hair, and she suddenly started to laugh. After a long moment, she called out, "Papa, you're still holding, right?" There was no answer, so she looked over her shoulder.
Her father was standing far behind her, in the middle of the path, waving. His hands were empty, and he was laughing too. Mia wobbled, but she did not fall. She rode in a big circle around the pond and stopped right in front of him. "You let go!" she said. "Two minutes ago," he said proudly. Mia thought about it for a second. "Again," she said.