love and a broken arm
"but what if i break my arm again?" my five year-old daughter asked, her lower lip trembling. i knelt holding onto her bike and looked her right in the eyes. i knew how much she wanted to learn to ride. how often she felt left out when her friends pedaled by our house. yet ever since she'd fallen off her bike and broken her arm, she'd been afraid.
"oh honey," i said. "i don't think you'll break another arm."
