PRACTICE

The rainy season ended, and the blue skies of summer arrived.

Kun and Dad piled in the Volvo 240 for a little trip together. They headed toward Naka Ward on National Highway 16 and soon arrived at a large expanse of grass and trees called Negishi Forest Park. They parked in the lot, and Dad took a brand new children’s bicycle with training wheels off the roof rack.

Kun put on his helmet right away and straddled the bike, then pushed down hard on the pedals to glide easily over the asphalt. The training wheels rattled noisily.

“Not a bad strategy, putting the letter in your mom’s shoes like that. Where’d you get that idea?” Dad asked, walking along next to him. “Maybe I’ll try it myself…”

He looked wistfully up at the sky.

“Goo!”

Inside the baby sling, Mirai made a sound like she was calling him. She was already more than seven months old.

“Hi, Mirai. I see you,” Dad said, inclining his head so the brim of his hat covered his face as he made a funny expression.

“Peekaboo!”

Mirai didn’t smile. She just stared.

According to Mom, Mirai had started smiling a lot when she was around three months old, but she still hadn’t given Dad a big grin. Even though he was the one who spent more time taking care of her at home, she only half smiled at him. Then, when Mom came home from work, Mirai’s smile was so wide it covered her whole face. Dad pondered why that was. Was it the power of breastfeeding? Since that was beyond him, maybe he had to try extra-hard.

He looked down again and made the most ridiculous face he could.

“Peekaboo!”

Mirai didn’t smile. She just studied him like any other oddity.

Dad had been reading up on how to play peekaboo. First, you were supposed to make eye contact and let the baby see what you usually look like. Next, you covered your face for just the right amount of time—not too short and not too long. Then, you made the silliest expression you could. The more outlandish it was, the more the baby was supposed to laugh.

Dad looked down a third time, jutted his jaw forward as far as he could, and made googly eyes.

“Peekaboo!”

Mirai didn’t smile. She just scrutinized him with deep interest.

Dad slumped over and muttered despondently.

“…You really won’t laugh for me, will you?”

Negishi Forest Park was the former site of the Negishi Racecourse, the first European-style horse racing track in Japan. For a little while after World War II ended, the American army had been in charge of it, but when control was returned to the Japanese, the city converted it into a park. The only remnant of its history was a seven-story grandstand called the First-Class Horse Viewing Stand, built in 1929, although it was falling apart and completely covered in vines.

Next to the grandstand was a small, round plaza. Kun and his father had come here so Kun could ride his new bike. Since he had only ever ridden a tricycle, he needed somewhere flat to learn, and Dad had found this place on the Internet.

On the grass, children shouted happily as they jumped rope or played with balls. Elderly people strolled with their dogs. A middle-aged foreign woman in workout clothes was sitting on a bench reading a magazine. On the neighboring bench, Dad took Mirai out of the baby sling and put her in the stroller.

“…”

Kun straddled his bike but didn’t pedal forward.

Some other children his age were riding around energetically.

Still as a statue, he stared at them.

They didn’t have training wheels on their bikes.

Surprised, Kun looked down at his own ride.

It definitely had training wheels.

He raised his head again.

No training wheels.

He looked down.

Training wheels.

No doubt about it.

“Really? Are you sure you want me to take off the training wheels?”

Dad half stood from the bench in astonishment.

Kun turned toward him with determination burning in his eyes and nodded vigorously.

“Uh-huh.”

“Right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re going to practice riding without them?”

“Uh-huh.”

“…You’re really, really sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Dad went to the parking lot and returned carrying the toolbox he kept in the car. With the help of his monkey wrench, he took off the six-sided bolts, and the training wheels were gone. He held the back of the bike while Kun gripped the handlebars and lifted one leg, but…

“Oomph…oof…erk…”

…his foot caught on the seat because his legs were so short.

“Oof…”

He finally climbed up. The tips of his toes barely touched the ground. What should he do next? He didn’t know. What about his feet? What were they supposed to do? He didn’t know.

Dad was getting a little impatient. “Kun…”

“Show me how.”

“Umm…”

Dad took his feet and put them on the pedals.

“If you put your feet on the pedals and give ’em a good push, you’ll go forward.”

Kun did just that, and he lurched forward so suddenly that he almost let go of the handlebars. At the same time, the front wheel wobbled back and forth. He couldn’t keep his balance.

“Ahh!”

He toppled right over.

Dad said he had to practice if he wanted to learn how to ride. Supposedly, children who had balance bikes (pedal-less two-wheelers) from the time they were little learned to ride much more quickly. Knowing this, Dad had apparently tried getting Kun to ride a balance bike in the past, but Kun wasn’t very interested and always rode his tricycle instead.

Now if Kun wanted to ride a bicycle, it was going to be hard. Dad had had a hard time getting the hang of it when he was little, too, but with a little tenacity, he’d eventually learned how. He tried encouraging Kun by telling him this story.

He asked the woman sitting on the bench if she would keep an eye on Mirai for a few minutes, and she said she’d be happy to. Mirai watched Kun from her stroller, cooing. He was in the middle of the plaza.

“Ahh…”

“It’s okay,” the woman told her, smiling kindly.

Dad put his hand on Kun’s back. “Here we go.”

But…

“I’m scared,” Kun said. His legs felt too weak to pedal.

“I’ve gotcha.”

“…”

Finally, Kun managed to push on the pedal and wobble forward like an unsteady toddler.

“You’re going! Good work, Kun!”

In actuality, he was mostly moving because Dad was pushing him. He wasn’t even pedaling. A second later, the front wheel began shaking, and he fell over. Dad got tangled up in the bike and hit the ground, too. He got right back up, though, and worriedly checked on Kun.

“Are you okay?”

“Oww…”

Dad smiled cheerfully and proposed another try. Kun got back on the bike, and his father supported his back again, running forward with him.

“Right, left, right, left!”

“Ahh!”

Dad’s chanting was out of time with Kun’s feet, and they got tripped up again and fell over. Kun started crying. “I don’t like it. It’s too scary.” But Dad smiled cheerfully and suggested they try again. He told him to press on the pedals harder this time.

For a third time, Kun climbed on the bike and tried following Dad’s advice.

“Left, right.”

“Ahh!”

The front wheel lost control, and Kun toppled over. He silently pleaded with his father that it was impossible, but Dad just smiled at him.

During the fourth attempt…

“Ahh!”

…the front wheel wobbled, and Kun fell almost immediately with a yelp.

Covered in mud, Kun clung to his father’s legs in frustration.

“Bikes are scary!”

“Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

Dad was covered in mud, too. He rubbed his son’s back, but the boy kept crying.

“It’s scary!”

“Oh dear,” said Dad, looking to the heavens.

Just then, they heard the ding-ding of a bell.

“?!”

A group of boys riding bicycles had gathered around them. They were the ones Kun had seen playing in the distance, although up close, they looked older.

“Is this your first time?”

“Are you practicing?”

“Want us to show you how?”

“It’s easy.”

Their questions bore a childlike kindness. Kun didn’t know how to answer. As he hesitated over how to reply, a sob from Mirai caught Dad’s attention. He thought for a moment, then looked back at Kun.

“Do you want the big boys to show you?”

“…”

Kun stared at Dad wordlessly. He was worried about learning from boys he didn’t know, but more than that, he would rather practice with Dad. He wanted to say all that, but before he could open his mouth, Mirai’s escalating tantrum had drawn Dad away.

“Daddy…”

Kun tried to stop him, but Dad didn’t even glance back as he jogged over to the bench. The woman watching Mirai gave him a somewhat harried greeting.

“She started crying all of a sudden…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dad said, bowing over and over.

Kun had to pick up the overturned bike by himself. Dad had done it for him before, but now, when he tried himself, he found it was very heavy. He wanted to give up right away.

“It’s like you’re kicking the ground,” one of the boys said, demonstrating a motion similar to walking.

“Try coming forward,” said another, showing him how he lifted his feet and moved along. “You have to lift them up hard, like this.”

They were all giving him rapid-fire instructions.

“Okay, we’ll wait for you over there,” they said, casually pedaling off.

Kun managed to get his bike upright and straddle the seat, but he didn’t know what to do next. He’d been left all by himself. He couldn’t ride just because they told him how. Still unsure what to do, he eyed the bench.

“…”

Dad was taking Mirai out of the stroller and comforting her while the woman fussed over how cute she was.

“Daddy…,” Kun mumbled awkwardly.

There was no way his voice could have reached his father. Again, he called for rescue.

“Daddyyy…”

But Dad couldn’t hear over his conversation with the woman. Kun stared in their direction.

“Daddy…”

The group of boys came back to check on him.

“Still here? What’s wrong?”

“Did something happen?”

They noticed the big tears pooling in Kun’s eyes and exchanged glances.

“Is he crying?”

“Are you serious?”

“Why? Why’s he crying?”

They were all shouting at once.

Kun kept staring at Dad. The fat droplets rolled down his cheeks and splashed onto the grass. Even though he was surrounded by other children, he felt all alone. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“DADDY!!!”

“Waaaaaaaah!”

Even after they got back to the house, Kun kept crying and thrashing. With his helmet still on and fluids streaming down his face, he shrieked and beat his fists against his father.

“I hate you, Daddy!”

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

Dad took the beating. Mom was showing Mirai the old photo album, but every now and then, she checked on the boys with a concerned expression. Dad looked even more worried than she did.

“I’m sorry, Kun. But let’s go again, okay?”

“I’m never riding my bike again!”

“Don’t say that. There’s a first time for everything.”

“No there isn’t! Hmph!”

“Hey!”

Kun shook him off and marched out of the playroom.

“…Whew.” Dad looked at Mom and sighed.

“…Whew.” She sighed back.

“Gah,” Mirai said, pointing to something in the album.

“Hmm?” Mom bent over the picture.

Mirai seemed to be asking her who was in it. By now, the baby could sit up by herself.

“That’s your great-granddad.”

It was a picture of Mom’s grandfather, who had passed away the year before. She gazed fondly at his face. The picture had been taken ten years earlier, when he was in his mideighties. In it, he was straddling a big motorcycle at a company his friend owned. She remembered how he’d told her, somewhat embarrassed, that he’d only taken the picture because its designers had asked him to…