(Part 11.  As the dad of a 13 year old autistic boy, this is advice I would give to a younger me.)

As you may (or may not)  know, my son learned to ride a bike ( http://stoppingpuncheswithmyface.com/2012/02/29/ride-forest-ride/ ).

Well the inevitable happened today, he ditched me.  It was bound to happen.  He is on a bike, I am running, 38, and breathing like I am going into labor.

He's a big fan of Paul Frank

He took off, and I was left eating his dust.

He has mastered the peddling and now is only falling over every other time.

We were riding and running when he suddenly put his head down and started peddling furiously.  He gave me a little sideways glance, a smirk and he was off.

I started full on sprinting for the first 50 yards but then age took over and I had to slow down.  I could hear him squeal with delight as he pulled ahead.  In my mind he was like the little pig from the Geico commercials squealing saying, “Pure adrenaline”.

He left me behind.

Oh, that he would do that in life.  That it would be a metaphor for all he does.  That he would be better than me at riding and running, and speaking and writing and living.

I think that is what everyone wants for their kid, that the child would surpass the accomplishments of the parent.

That he would dream bigger, go farther and be wildly more successful than me.  It does not have to be public like this where I am left coughing and wheezing but it would be great if his successes when compared to mine, left me looking like a middle-aged, out of shape man gasping for breath.

That  our children would go farther and dream bigger experiencing greater successes than I ever imagined.

Dream, big boy.  Dream big, boy.