The “Changing Gears” Bicycle Book has Landed…on My Porch

My dog, Georgie, is leaping in corkscrews, thundering his paws against my hips again and again as I swing the gate open and enter my front yard. I try to pull my bike in behind me as quick as I can so that he doesn’t escape. ”No, Georgie.” I scold, “Don’t jump up.” but I am a bad puppy trainer and I give him kisses on his forehead as I chastise him. He is too cute, with his big floppy paws and overgrown teenage exuberance, for me to ever really be angry with him.

I start up the front steps, thinking about what to make for dinner, while trying not to trip over his puppy love when I see a telltale box on the front mat. I know instantly by both its physical heft and its attending emotional weight that it is my new book, Changing Gears. I wasn’t expecting it quite yet, but there it is, surprising me in its solidity.

I pick it up, brush Georgie to the side with my new myopic focus and carry it in to the kitchen counter. There, I quickly grab a long bread knife and slice through the packing tape along the sides, breathless and a little …afraid?

Sure enough, when I unfold the box there are ten copies. My heart beats crookedly as I stare at the cover. Here is the fruition of so much; the bicycling adventure, the writing and the parenting of my rascally teenage son, Oakley-who comes running.

“What did you get?” he elbows in, always eager to get front row seats on all incoming packages. He is not all together unlike Georgie, both in his teenage exuberance and his lack of spatial awareness. ”It is the book! Let me see one.” He rips one from the box and flips through the pages. He reads the cover. “A desperate mother and a distant teen? That is you-desperate!” and he laughs.

Immediately, his phone is out and he is taking pictures and instagramming about it. He posts to the world about how proud he is, and he grins from ear to ear. I grin too, but what I am feeling is a lot more complicated than pure excitement.

I realize, really for the first time, that while I wrote this book about Oakley and I, I was writing a letter, or telling a story to my best friend. It was an intimate tale about the love and challenge of parenting my child, and now, here it was, for the whole world to see; the two of us-splayed wide open. I realize that I had not only invited the world into my heart, but also gave it front row seats to my and Oakley’s struggles. I feel queasy. Would Oakley ever forgive me? Was it okay to share so much? He had known the book was coming and we had discussed what it was about, but it feels so difFerent to hold it.

Oakley takes a copy, plunks himself down on the couch and begins to read. As I watch him, my breath catches in my chest. All I can do is hope that he can understand what my intentions were.

I do believe that sharing is how we support each other. How we learn from each other. How we connect through our mutual humanness. Isolation is a killer and connection can save lives, right? Oakley’s eyes are riveted to the page and mine are riveted on him. Concern wrinkles his brow and I am sure my brow mirrors his. “Mom, why did you say that I have severe ADHD? Why did you say that I have academic challenges?”

“Because you do, and that is okay. It is nothing to be embarrassed about. You are the hero of the book. It says right on the cover that I am the desperate one. I was trying to share our truth and I couldn’t lie.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Me too, this feels really exposing.”

“Yeah. it’s weird.” he says. My queasy feeling becomes more like a roiling in my guts.

I continue watching him read. Have I made a mistake? But a moment later he smiles, then he lets out a chuckle. “This is funny, you remember that crazy bike stop owner?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just keeps reading and I watch his eyes begin to light up and to dance from word to word.

“Oaks, are you okay with it being about some hard stuff?”

‘Yeah, it is fine. I really like it. I sounds just like me.”

He reads it that afternoon and takes it to bed with him that night and finishes it the next day. He voices no more concerns, only points out a discrepancies, “It was not ten miles…it was eight!” and in the end he announces that it was a great book and that he loves it.

And so, dear reader, with all due respect, I don’t care what you think, because the most important critic has given me his praises. I do hope you like it, I do hope you enjoy our journey and I do hope you laugh, cringe and hope along with us-but his review will always matter the most to me.

It will be available for purchase on May 10th. Thank you.