I noticed the training wheels on my son’s bike were no longer touching the ground. He was riding without them. “Let’s take those off,” I said.

“No Daddy, I’m not ready.”

“Sure you are; let’s give it a try.”

After I removed them, he got on the bike, but couldn’t get enough momentum to stay up and fell right over.

“See Daddy, I can’t do it. Put them back on.”

“Let’s try it again, and this time I’ll push.” I grabbed the back of the seat and started pushing him. He was pedaling and riding perfectly, and I had to run as fast as I could to continue holding the seat. “You’re doing it!” I cried. “I’m going to let go now.”

“No Daddy, don’t let go. I can’t do it.”

I let go, and he stopped pedaling. The bike rolled a few more feet, began to wobble, then fell over.

“I can’t do it. Daddy, please put the training wheels back on.”

He couldn’t see what I saw: that he was already riding without them. He was like a circus elephant tied to a stake in the ground. That elephant is strong enough to push over a tree, yet because she was tied to a stake as a baby—when she wasn’t strong enough to pull it up—she continues to believe it can’t be done.

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