The first time my son asked if he could bike in the neighborhood with his friends, I hesitated. His friend balanced on his bike, one foot on the ground, waiting impatiently for an answer. I looked at my eight-year old son, his eyes wide with hope, and every instinct in me wanted to say no. It was too dangerous. He could get hit by a car. Or kidnapped. Instead, I took a breath and said, "You can go one block over. And stick together the whole time." My son pumped his fist in victory, clipped on