My first wife and I split when our son was a few months old, but I had him over regularly. When he was five, I bought him his first bike, a little Italjet 50. After talking him through the controls (throttle and brake

) I pointed him in a straight line in the field and told him to gently roll on the throttle. I jogged along next to him for a few yards, and then he went for it. Either I was too fat or the bike was too fast, but I couldn't keep up and watched him shoot off into the distance. He must have caught a bump, next thing I know he's in a tank slapper and off he went, breaking his arm in two places.
At the hospital I was questioned by social services, after a doctor reported me for suspected child abuse. But that was nothing compared to returning him to his mother a day early with his arm in plaster...