I shoved the bike as hard as I could and let go. As a parent, I was never convinced my life lessons landed with my kids. One cool late September morning in Georgia, while lacing up my running shoes, I looked over at my ten-year-old daughter, Kristen, drawing at the kitchen table. Sixty-four brand-new crayons were strewn about, totally emptied from their yellow box. A mop of thick blond hair hung around her face. Her bare feet were tucked under her, on the wooden chair. Still in her nightgown, she clearly was not dressed for outdoor play. “Let’s go outside,” I said. “You ride your bike, and I’ll jog by…