A Bike for My Boy....

13 years in the making.

Tonight, I watched my son Cooper, bike around our cul-du-sac for 35 minutes. He laughed. He tried. He peddled. He dinged the bell. He tried.

We had fun.

To most, this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal. But to me, it means the absolute world.

See, when Cooper was 2 years old, I was told some pretty awful predictions about his future. Predictions that I let break me for a long time. Predictions that would ultimately strengthen me in so many ways.

Read this story that I shared in my book, Forever Boy. It’s a powerful one. And then watch my boy.

Many people thought I was overreacting about Cooper’s delays. Sometimes it felt as though I was screaming into a void. But one person did not think I was overreacting. Lately Cooper’s in-home daycare reports had begun to get less shiny. ‘Cooper refuses to follow the schedule,” she would say. Or ‘every other child painted a Mother’s Day craft today, but Cooper did not. He refused to hold the paintbrush.” She added, cruelly: “I didn’t bother making you one because I assume you don’t want to see my work.” I sensed that he was going to get kicked out, a very real fear for parents like me. Most daycares, in -home and even some centers, are unable to accommodate kids with special needs, leaving parents without care. 

I cried that night to my mother on the phone, telling her of the sting I felt in my heart watching Cooper’s daycare buddies toddle up to their moms with decorated giftbags for Mother’s Day, while Cooper had nothing to give me. Her decision to not make one for me stung and felt deliberate. 

Each day my anxiety started to rise as pick up neared. Because I knew. I could tell something was building. I knew my son was different from the other children. I felt it in my bones. There was nothing I was more certain of.  But I was doing everything I could to figure it out and coming up empty handed. I assumed that was obvious. 

On this Thursday it was different though. As I turned to leave, his daycare provider followed me to my car. 

‘There is something wrong with Cooper, Kate. And it seems like you aren’t doing anything about it,’ she said flatly.

My mouth dropped open, and I stepped back, bumping into my car. I felt like I had been slapped by her words. I could tell by the tone in her voice she was serious and that she had obviously had to build up the courage to tell me this. Before I could speak, and defend myself and Cooper she went on to say…

‘I know kids like Cooper. My father is a speech therapist, and I had him meet with Cooper. He agrees with me. Something is wrong and it is NOT just a speech delay. Cooper needs help. It seems like you are living in denial.’

The silence hung between us.  Was she kidding me? I was practically killing myself to figure out what was happening. All the therapy, the early intervention, the endless research and seeking out answers. 

Cooper was on the waiting list for a clinic that treats children with language disorders. I was doing everything I could to try and get him help.

And then she said the most painful thing that had ever been said to me.

‘Kate, something is wrong with Cooper. You need to prepare yourself that he will never ride a bike, make a friend, or learn to talk.’

My face burned hot. This woman had just confirmed my greatest fears. The rest was a blur. I’m not sure if I said much. I’m not sure if I defended Cooper or myself. I think I just got in my car and left.

I spent much of the night staring off into space, imagining the future she predicted. Never before had another person’s words impacted me so much. I felt worthless as a mom as I studied Cooper, tears falling from my eyes, wondering if she could possibly be right. Is it possible he might never talk? Or make a friend? Or even ride a bike? I kept telling myself she was wrong. It wasn’t possible. How could she know what the future held? I sure didn’t.

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I searched high and low for the perfect bike for Cooper! And after ordering one that was a dud, I am so glad to share that I found this one from Viribus Bikes. It’s exactly what we were looking for.

Thank you all for being here.

I share these stories to show a glimpse inside our world. And to give hope to families that are struggling, like we were for so many years.

It’s taken 13 years, but I am proud to say, we are going to biking soon. As a family.

-Kate