Bike Boy

I'm walking in the park, getting my exercise, and this little kid riding along with training wheels suddenly loses control and falls off his bike right into the grass. I'm reading my book, minding my own business. Sighing, I straighten the kid's bike and look down at him. He's wearing his helmet, lying on his side, knees bent, in a fetal position. He is not whimpering, eyes are open. just lying there contemplating the insanity of bikes, learning at an early age about responsibilities. He is a kid. Kids ride bikes. No one questions this chain of events, certainly not the boy.
I should have asked him if he was okay. Maybe I did. But I distinctly remember inquiring if he was going to get up. He hesitated, as though thinking it over. What's the point, he may be thinking. He does get up and climbs back on the bike. Is too embarrassed to thank me. I continue my walk. A few seconds later he loses control again, practically runs into me, manages to regain his balance, looking at me sheepishly. Go slow is all I can offer. Go slow.
He starts pedaling again and soon is far off in the distance. I keep circling the path with my book, but I never see him again.
Part of me admires the kid for his persistence in the face of this absurd task. Another part feels sorry for him because he will discover no matter how many times he falls he will be expected to rise and start over.One day, after he's retired, he may just have to dodge some fool kid on a bike, going sideways when he should be going straight.