On Sunday morning, Flipper pushed down with one of her new shoes, wobbled a bit, and then took off, gliding down the sidewalk. My hand, the steadying one that has held the seat so she could start, dropped to my side.

It had been a long weekend of trial runs, many falls, many tears of frustration, and then she got it. Pride — hers AND mine — knew no bounds. I could remember — barely — how exciting it was to feel yourself go faster than you could ever run and knowing that a new world — an exciting one — was know open to you.

I was proud of her when she walked for the first time. But for a normally developing child, walking is something pre-programmed that they WILL do. You cannot teach it.

But the bike? The bike is different. It involved action on my part (I was, of course, reading when she took her first steps) and worries that her frustration at repeated failings would cause her to quit. I didn't want her to.

I desperately want her to have some perseverance in her soul, the ability to keep on keeping on ... even after the bloody knee, after the collision with the tombstone. Note: There is a small graveyard in our neighborhood with about 6 graves scattered in an acre. So we started there because, I reasoned, the grass would be less painful to fall on. I didn't anticipate her bike homing in on a large tombstone as though it - and the bike - were magnetized. Now she wants to ride every day, and I am poking around for a bike for myself, so we can ride together.

So fun! And that is Part 1 of my story. Here is Part 2.

That same quiet, humid, gray Sunday morning that my poor neighbors were undoubtedly drinking coffee to my cheers of KEEP PEDALING!! KEEP GOING!! YOU'RE DOING GREAT!! Flipper and I got thirsty.

I went inside my townhouse to get her a cup of "icy" water, and she stayed outside, about 30 feet from my front door. When I came out, after two to three minutes, a cop was there. I knew immediately what he wanted. I knew, just knew, that he was going to take me to task for her lack of a helmet.

But I was wrong. He was more interested in cautioning me not to ever, ever leave her alone outside, because "someone could just come by and take her away." I asked him if he was serious, and he assured me that yes, he was. That she was cute. That anyone could throw her into the back of their car. And, theoretically, he was/is right.

But statistically ... there are 70 million children under the age of 18 in America. In 2007, there were 107 stranger kidnappings — 107. Most ended in tragedy. But no matter how you look at it, the risk is very, very small. And yet our fear of "stranger danger" is very, very high. But how sad that the cop thought she should never be outside — to color on our sidewalk (6 feet from our door), to hop on the grass, to check the mail ... that I was remiss in not parenting or supervising her to the point where I should not have gone into my house, in my neighborhood to get a glass of water because something "might" happen, even though that "something" is so statistically improbable.

As my sister said, "He was just doing his job." Maybe. I fight against "parenting through fear" every day, since I don't believe it helps children at all learn self-reliance, or that they are much, much more likely to be abused at the hands of someone they know and trust than a faceless, nameless "stranger."

My sister and I enjoyed a huge amount of freedom when we were young. We walked and rode our bikes to school, we spent entire days roaming the creeks and woods and fields near our house, at times more than two miles away.

But the world is different today, I hear you thinking. And you're right, it is. But it is not less safe for her. We just think it is. And why? Why are our fears so much more part of our parenting than our parents — when the risk hasn't changed?

I have a lot of theories, and media coverage of rare but tragic events would come in at No. 1. I mean, does anyone remember the non-stop coverage of Natalee Holloway's disappearance on AMERICAN television and not in the country where she vanished? Would that have been the case in 1975?

No. It would only have made the local news of her hometown. I think parents are more likely to be blamed today for terrible accidents, as though we can control everything. And I think that parenting has gotten weirdly obsessive. People are more comfortable being freaks about safety.

I can't imagine my parents — or any of my friends' parents — not letting us ride in someone else's car. And our Volkswagen didn't even have seat belts. But I know two mothers who will not let their child ride in any car but theirs.

I find it crazy, and yet, on some level, I get it, I really do. But she can still color on our sidewalk. I just cannot — will not — live in fear, and neither can Flipper.

Note large empty space. Note bike heading unerringly toward gravestone.

We really do own a helmet.

Leigh appears every Monday on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Leigh at Flipper and Me.