Sibling jealousy is one of those things that parents are often faced with. One of the more common occurrences of this emotion happens when trying to divide a treat into equal portions. You know the one? You cut a chocolate bar into equal halves and the kids scrutinise your cutting abilities, measuring down to the millimetre to ensure they get the larger piece. You could've cut with laser accuracy, but they'd still check before being satisfied with the portion they've been given!
One of the difficulties we've faced, having a child with a disability, is ensuring equity with our other child. Obviously, we love them both the same, however, one needs us to help with routine tasks more than the other, and since the diagnosis that changed our lives, we've been more than aware that keeping balance between our kids was going to be difficult, but more necessary than ever. We don't want our daughter to miss out on things because of the needs of her brother, and despite being aware of the likelihood of this, and trying our best not to let it happen, we've still found ourselves accidentally favouring our son because of the extra attention he needs.
Learning how to ride a bike was always difficult for our son because of the nature of a muscle-wasting condition such as Duchenne muscular dystrophy. His muscles are simply not strong enough to allow him to pedal a bike, much less keep it balanced and upright. We did try a few times with him, but he always struggled, even before we received his diagnosis, which made his struggles even more perplexing, because we didn't really understand why it was so difficult for him. It's been about three years now since his last attempt at riding a bike, an unfortunately, despite really enjoying riding a bike myself, his sister hasn't really been given the opportunity to ride one either. Again, not because we didn't want her to, or not because we didn't want to help her learn, but because most of our time is used in other areas.
She's always had bikes, and she's been able to ride them, because they've all had training wheels. However, about eighteen months ago, I purchased her a new bike - one that would last her longer than the cheaper ones we'd brought previously. This one was a 6-speed mountain bike and, for the first time, she was getting a bike without training wheels. Now, I know that learning to ride a bike does take time and effort.
I also know that moving from training wheels to no training wheels is a big step, so before actually paying for this new bike, I made sure that it could be fitted with training wheels so that my daughter could get used to riding a much larger bike before facing the challenge of riding it sans training wheels. I was assured, by the gut at the bike shop, that this bike could be fitted with the required supports and was given the 'correct' training wheels and offered an in-shop fitting. I politely declined because I figured it wouldn't be too difficult to do it myself, and that way, I could save the fitting fee.
With a smaller car, moving the bike from one place to another was an ordeal in itself, but we finally got it home and I began the process of placing the training wheels on the bike - a five minute endeavour. (Or so I'd been told!) Half an hour later, the wheels still hadn't been fitted and my blood pressure was rising. I'm happy to report that the problem wasn't my ability to fit them, but rather, the sales assistant at the bike shop had sold me a set of training wheels that didn't actually fit the bike - the holes in the training wheel struts were too small of the bolts on the bike. Without boring larger holes in the training wheels, they simply weren't going on.
Despite the setback, I figured it was probably time for her to learn how to use a bike without training wheels anyway, and we forged ahead with the first lesson. To say it was a struggle would be an understatement and about four or five sporadic lessons ensued over the coming months before we hung up the helmet for a while. She did ask, from time to time, if we could go for a bike ride, but I managed to find an excuse each time, and the bike remained in our garage, slowly collecting dust.
About two weeks ago, she asked if we could take the bike out, and now that the shock of the diagnosis has worn off, I decided it was finally time to properly teach her how to ride a bike. With school holidays coming up in two weeks, it was the prefect time to plan out an approach the would have her riding a bike before the final term commenced, so I promised her we would ride it every day of the holidays so that she could learn.
The third day of our training plan rolled around and we were playing cards when she asked if we could do the bike ride now. Her brother looked a little dejected, but I'd made a promise to her and to myself that I wouldn't neglect her ability to learn how to ride a bike any longer, so we got ready to go, and I asked her brother if he'd like to come as well, which he did.
Using a wheelchair for most activities outside of the house, he can be the worlds greater encourager, which is how he is most times, or, at other times, he can be a powerful detractor. I wasn't sure who would show up on this particular ride. He was fine for the first few minutes, but this ride also happened to the the pivotal ride in which is sister 'clicked' and became proficient at bike riding. She literally went from nothing to everything in all of ten minutes, which was so exciting for her, amazing for me, and hard for him.
I often have in the back of my mind how it must be difficult for him as he watches other kids his age climbing and running and just generally being kids when he either remains in his wheelchair, or struggles to perform some of the simplest activities. But on this day, I didn't really stop to think how he might feel as he watched his sister ride her bike for the first time. (Not that I expected on her third proper day of learning that she'd pick it up so well.)
As her confidence grew, he began acting out more and more. Tipping the water out of her bottle, throwing at her as she rode past, calling her names and just generally being a jerk towards her was how his behaviour diminished, and my initial reaction was to get frustrated with him - I was trying to teach her how to ride the bike, and was immensely proud of her as she was succeeding so well, but he was doing everything he could think of to take away the joy of the moment.
It wasn't until this had been going on for quite a while, and none of my attempts to get him to stop being mean towards her had worked, that I realised that this wasn't just a normal case of jealousy. He wasn't upset at her because she could ride a bike and he couldn't. In fact, I don't think he was even upset at her. He was upset at the situation. He knows that riding a bike the way she now can is something that will continually become more difficult for him. And now, as I reflect on this, I struggle to understand how difficult it must be for him to make peace with this. Obviously, at the time, he was struggling immensely with it and it's not just this moment. He sees this all the time, in the yard at school, in the classroom, at local parks and playgrounds.
I don't know how to help him understand that he has other talents and abilities that make him so special. All I can do is encourage him and let him know how much I love him and that being able to do something, like riding a bike, doesn't define a person. I need to encourage my daughter because the feat of learning how to ride a bike is to be celebrated, but to do so in a manner that doesn't upset my son is a challenge. I hope that the message is getting through and that he will, one day, understand that it's not his fault, but for now, it hurts to see him struggling as he understands more, the physical differences between himself and his sister.
