the razor

I'm not especially coordinated.  I tend to have a somewhat exaggerated fear of being hurt or even uncomfortable while pushing the limits of my body.  I'd rather lounge on the patio than bungee jump any day.  I can't dance.  I have absolutely no interest in extreme sports and hardly an interest in regular sport of any kind.  Also, I'm not good at learning things I'm not immediately good at.  I didn't learn how to ride a bike until I was ten and was always chosen last for team games in school.
Yeah, I was that kid.
I'm not proud of these facts.  I'm not especially ashamed of them either.  But I have given some thought to normalcy in childhood and the influence my lack of interest and my dis-abilities in this area might be having on my daughter (or might have in years to come).
She's not especially amenable to physical risk either.  She only climbs the lowest branches of the trees while her friends scale the heights and after struggling two or three times to ride her bike more than ten feet many months ago, she gave up and reacts unkindly to that contraption's infrequent reappearance.

That's why when a few weeks back she asked us for a scooter, Ryan and I started immediately searching them out and, after finding one on Cragslist for $10, gave it to her without it even being a special holiday or occasion. 

We like to encourage her adventurous and daring side at any opportunity.   (I know scooter riding is hardly daring to those of you with regular tree-climbing, monkey-bar-swinging kids, but we're working within differing confines here.)
We're on day three.
She's fallen a few times even though she barely lifts her foot off the ground.  Even so, she glows when she rides this thing - laughing and smiling as she putt, putt, putts down the sidewalk.  I think she thinks she's doing something absolutely amazing.
In my book, she totally is.
Maybe she'll be her father's daughter in this after all.

Go, my little Razor girl!  GO!!