Earlier this year, The Little Viking turned four-years-old. He has officially spent over half of his life in Denmark. Most of his memories have been formed here, along with many big milestones. If you ask him, he’ll proudly announce that he was born in Copenhagen (sorry kid, that’s not quite correct). As his sense of self continues to develop with each passing birthday, he hasn’t yet realized that we’re different, as in we’re not Danish, and that he’s a third-culture-kid. He clearly feels rooted here in Denmark, and I think much of that stems from our family’s “jump in with both feet” approach. And while his lineage is multinational with a weave of cultures from across the globe, I hope he will always feel a sense of connection to it all, while remaining solidly anchored in his Danish childhood.
One significant milestone occurred recently, shortly after his birthday. Early on a Sunday morning, he woke up full of determination, confidently announcing that he was ready to ride his pedal bike without training wheels. Leading up to this, my husband had been slowly raising his training wheels to allow our son the freedom to practice balancing on two wheels. Low-pressure practice with no set end date.
This became a bit of a game, where my son would cycle alongside us, concentrating on his balance, while proudly declaring “Look, mummy! I’m on two wheels!” I’d watched him diligently work towards this goal, so on the day that he declared it to be training wheel removal time, I knew a big moment was upon us. He was ready.
As one does for milestones, we made a special day of it by cycling out to the historic seaside fishing village of Dragør. Upon arrival, we conveniently found a large flat area of grass near the marina (don’t worry, it was plenty far away from the actual water) and unloaded his bike from our trusty cargo bike. The setting felt ideal.
After a 50-minute cycle from our home across Copenhagen, beyond the airport, past riding stables with horses grazing in fields, it took just 5 minutes for our little guy to be cycling around without training wheels while triumphantly yelling “I can do it!! I did it!!”.
From that day on, The Little Viking has insisted on riding his bike every day to and from børnehaven. It’s a 1km trip each way, and he has continued to embrace it with enthusiasm. Rain or shine, not much stops him. He proudly clips on his helmet and marches down to unlock his bike and turn on his lights. We head out together, side by side, with my husband and I flanking the enthusiastic little cyclist with our own bikes. I feel a bit like his security detail, trying to predict his moves, ebbing and flowing as he navigates his route.
The other day I glanced down to catch him balancing one tiny foot on the curb as we waited for the traffic lights to change. He had spent years watching us do it with him as a passenger, and now here he was so casually and confidently doing it himself, as if he’d been doing it his whole life. A reminder that where we choose to call home, and how we spend our time, forms the narrative of our lives, dotted with the milestones that anchor who we become along with the memories of our childhood.
