The 6-year-olds had their dads with them, but Wyatt would have nothing to do with such pansy behavior. The bobbling crowd of tiny legs and arms headed out and Wyatt moved his little bike around a few big rear wheels in his way, passing a few adults right off of the gunshot. By the time he reached the farthest side of the loop around the lake, he stopped. We screamed from across the lake for him to GOGOGOGOGOGO! and I demanded that grandma start swimming over. I grabbed a nearby bike so that I could get close, but when he saw me coming he got really mad and said he wouldn’t go if I rode with him. I tossed the bike aside and continued to cheer him to keep going. He rode a little further and stopped again, mad at me for being near him. His brother called for him to keep going, so he did. By now every last little duder passed him as we begged him to finish the race. He set aside his obstinacy and crossed the line, grinning madly at the wild cheers from an entire crowd hoping for him to finish.
“I did great out there, didn’t I mama?!” he asked sweetly before collapsing asleep in his car-seat home.
