And so we return to our intrepid little bicyclist who joyously pedals around unaided by training wheels...
Riding my bike was one of my favorite outdoor activities as a kid. The bike I learned on was a tiny green second-hand bike my mom got from who knows where. She was pretty resourceful. I loved my bike. Even when I learned to ride it, it was already getting too small for me. By the time the next summer rolled around I think I probably looked pretty comical as my knees bounced somewhere near armpit level with each pump of the pedals. It was ok with me though it is important to note the bike also lacked a kickstand for parking it. Sure I would have welcomed a new bike but this was the one I had and I was really happy to have it. Did I mention I loved my bike?
One perfect day I was riding up and down the alley with my friends when I passed the back yard and saw my grandparents had arrived for a visit. Now, understand the set-up of the yard. The house was a duplex with no front yard with only a small backyard, which ended at the alley. There was a carport by the alley for our car and we kept our bikes in a small metal shed or on the closed in back porch. Either storage place was kind of a pain because it involved either wrestling with a stubborn sliding metal door on the shed or hefting the bike up steps and holding the porch door open while dragging the bike onto the porch. Neither option was quick and easy and I had grandparents to visit! Grandparents were one of the few things that would draw me away from riding my bike.
I opted to quickly ditch the bike next to the carport, in my own yard...leaning up against the garbage can...You know, I was being careful not to just toss it on the ground since it didn't have a kickstand.
I ran inside to see my grandparents, who were always doting. We enjoyed a typical and happy visit. In the back of my mind I made note of the sound of the garbage truck crawling down the alley. Soon enough the visit came to an end and we all walked my grandparents out to their car, which was parked in the grass next to the carport with the garbage can and, presumably, my bike in between.
Except the previously full can was now empty...and my bike was gone. At first I thought my bike had just been moved. Then I angrily thought someone had stolen it. Then my mother told me if it was leaning up against the can the garbageman probably thought it was to be hauled to the dump and that's what I get for not being responsible to put my bike away. The realization made my stomach sink. My eyes welled up as I thought about some ogre of a garbageman thinking my precious bike was mere junk. I bawled imagining a ravenous truck munching on my poor little bike like some sort of snack. I was heart-broken. There was much wailing. My mother remained unsympathetic and forbid my grandparents from going out to buy me a new one.
My grandfather tried to console me as I sobbed. I just knew all hope was lost. My bike had to be compacted into bits by now and was being digested in the belly of the truck among a week's worth of tin cans, coffee grinds, newspapers, dirty diapers, and rotten food. It was unbearable.
Equally unbearable was watching my friends ride their bikes up and down the alley while I had none. I think at one desperate point I dragged out my old Big Wheel to try to ride but I was far too big for it and the plastic wheels were pretty badly degraded by then as well. The whole situation was just miserable and I well knew there was no money for a replacement. Even if there were, Mom made it clear that I had a hard lesson to learn about taking proper care of my things. As far as I could tell, I was out of luck for a long time.
I don't know what period of time passed. It could have been a day, a week, or more for all I knew. Whatever length of time it was felt like forever because of the hopelessness of the situation. The day came that my grandfather appeared at our house. It was unusual because he was alone and he always came with my grandmother. Also unusual was that it was not a Thursday. He and my grandmother always came to visit us on a Thursday. Such rituals may seem strange but it was reassuring to me to know I could count on seeing them every Thursday. Whatever day it was and after whatever amount of time, he was there and he was smiling ear to ear.
He called me out back because he said he had something for me. I followed him and there beside his car, next to the garbage can, was my beloved bike. It was somewhat bent and a little scraped up but it was unmistakeably MY bike. I was elated! I threw my arms around my grandfather and asked how he got my bike back. He brushed off my question and said not to worry about that just to enjoy my bike. I thanked him again and again. He just smiled and said he couldn't let his princess (the buckskin kind, not the ballgown kind) go without her bike. He had fixed it up as well as he could but he was sorry it was still a bit bent.
My grandfather was my hero for rescuing my bike from the dump. As I pedaled crookedly up and down the alley, with my knees hitting my armpits I imagined him searching through mountains of stinking garbage to find my bike. I learned the love that would motivate him to do that meant more than if he'd gone out to buy me a shiny new bike with a straight frame and unmarred paint. I also learned to never park my bike by the garbage can again.
Showing posts with label bicycles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bicycles. Show all posts
Monday, April 02, 2012
Sunday, April 01, 2012
The Lessons in Bicycles-Part 1
Last Autumn Isaac bought a new bike with his birthday money. He had gone a while without his own because he was growing so fast we didn't want to invest in one he might quickly outgrow. He and Mr. Lime shared Mr. Lime's bike. Mr. Lime has been an avid cyclist his entire adult life and for the six months he was without a driver's license last year he relied heavily upon his bike to get around. Since Isaac wants to be mobile but doesn't have a driver's license he is finding a bike gives him all sorts of independence. Watching them makes me think back to how my bicycle gave me freedom I needed as a kid...and more.
When I was six my parents split up and my mom moved us to town. Before that we lived rurally and I just rode around in the driveway with my training wheels. In town we had an alley behind the house and I quickly found out from neighborhood kids it was expected a six year old could go without training wheels. I asked to learn. Mom, however, was overwhelmed with just trying to put food on the table and then she got sick and spent considerable time on bed rest. Teaching me to learn to ride a two-wheeler was understandably not high on the list. A birthday passed and I was still pedaling around on training wheels, and being teased for it.
In my neighborhood there was an assortment of kids who were around my age. Twin boys and their toddler sister were next door. A boy a couple years older, who was the most merciless tormentor, lived on the corner. My best friend was directly across the back alley. Another girl lived at the other end of the street. In the middle of the street was a rental property which seemed to have a frequently revolving set of inhabitants. At the time I was wanting very much to ride, that house had a family with a few kids. Among them was a girl a year older than I was, who was obviously developmentally delayed.
One day I was pedaling up and down the alley with my best friend and the delayed girl. We were having a fine time until the tormentor showed up. Immediately he began picking on me for still using training wheels. I felt my face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. For whatever reason he didn't stick around long. Nonetheless, my revelry of riding with friends had been broken and even after he had gone I was still feeling beaten down. My best friend told me to ignore what he had said but I was sick of not being able to ride a two-wheeler. After all, I was the only school-aged kid in the neighborhood still with training wheels.
I bemoaned not having my dad around to teach me and having a mom who was too busy or sick to teach me. At hearing this, the delayed girl perked up and said she could teach me how to ride. Colored by my own bias toward her ability to teach and my own doubts about my ability to learn, I continued to whine about my lot in life. She was undaunted and insisted she could teach me. I saw a real earnestness in her eyes and it engendered enough trust that I was willing to give it a try. What was the worst that would happen...I'd fall over and get a scraped knee? No big deal, my legs were constantly scraped and bruised from tree climbing, tag, and various other outdoor activities anyway.
The problem was getting the training wheels off so she could teach me. I didn't know how to do that. Again, she had the solution and knelt down to loosen the wing nuts holding them on. Voila! No more training wheels! I was a bit nervous now. There would be no turning back. Given that my teacher was a child herself I am not entirely sure how she managed helping me balance while she got me started again and again but she did. All along the way she gave words of encouragement. Eventually she said she was going to just give me a shove and I was to pedal myself. I wobbled a bit and regained my balance as I pedaled the length of the alley while listening to her cheers fade in the distance before she ran down to meet me and help me get started again. Before long I was getting myself started and stopped.
I was elated to finally be rid of my training wheels and overwhelmingly grateful to this girl for helping me. My "teacher" was called home for dinner but before she went I thanked her profusely for teaching me how to ride and told her I was sorry I didn't initially believe she could teach me. She just smiled and told me I did a good job like she knew I would.
She didn't know it and at the time I didn't have the words for it but she taught me much more than how to ride a bike, which was significant enough in my young mind. She taught me to stop whining and start learning. She taught me not to listen to people who want to tear you down but to the ones who want to build you up. She taught me that even the people you think have very little to offer can have exactly what you need as well as the grace to give it to you generously...if you have the grace to receive it humbly. Her family moved away not long after that but I still think of her when I see a little kid having training wheels removed. And I smile in gratitude.
When I was six my parents split up and my mom moved us to town. Before that we lived rurally and I just rode around in the driveway with my training wheels. In town we had an alley behind the house and I quickly found out from neighborhood kids it was expected a six year old could go without training wheels. I asked to learn. Mom, however, was overwhelmed with just trying to put food on the table and then she got sick and spent considerable time on bed rest. Teaching me to learn to ride a two-wheeler was understandably not high on the list. A birthday passed and I was still pedaling around on training wheels, and being teased for it.
In my neighborhood there was an assortment of kids who were around my age. Twin boys and their toddler sister were next door. A boy a couple years older, who was the most merciless tormentor, lived on the corner. My best friend was directly across the back alley. Another girl lived at the other end of the street. In the middle of the street was a rental property which seemed to have a frequently revolving set of inhabitants. At the time I was wanting very much to ride, that house had a family with a few kids. Among them was a girl a year older than I was, who was obviously developmentally delayed.
One day I was pedaling up and down the alley with my best friend and the delayed girl. We were having a fine time until the tormentor showed up. Immediately he began picking on me for still using training wheels. I felt my face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. For whatever reason he didn't stick around long. Nonetheless, my revelry of riding with friends had been broken and even after he had gone I was still feeling beaten down. My best friend told me to ignore what he had said but I was sick of not being able to ride a two-wheeler. After all, I was the only school-aged kid in the neighborhood still with training wheels.
I bemoaned not having my dad around to teach me and having a mom who was too busy or sick to teach me. At hearing this, the delayed girl perked up and said she could teach me how to ride. Colored by my own bias toward her ability to teach and my own doubts about my ability to learn, I continued to whine about my lot in life. She was undaunted and insisted she could teach me. I saw a real earnestness in her eyes and it engendered enough trust that I was willing to give it a try. What was the worst that would happen...I'd fall over and get a scraped knee? No big deal, my legs were constantly scraped and bruised from tree climbing, tag, and various other outdoor activities anyway.
The problem was getting the training wheels off so she could teach me. I didn't know how to do that. Again, she had the solution and knelt down to loosen the wing nuts holding them on. Voila! No more training wheels! I was a bit nervous now. There would be no turning back. Given that my teacher was a child herself I am not entirely sure how she managed helping me balance while she got me started again and again but she did. All along the way she gave words of encouragement. Eventually she said she was going to just give me a shove and I was to pedal myself. I wobbled a bit and regained my balance as I pedaled the length of the alley while listening to her cheers fade in the distance before she ran down to meet me and help me get started again. Before long I was getting myself started and stopped.
I was elated to finally be rid of my training wheels and overwhelmingly grateful to this girl for helping me. My "teacher" was called home for dinner but before she went I thanked her profusely for teaching me how to ride and told her I was sorry I didn't initially believe she could teach me. She just smiled and told me I did a good job like she knew I would.
She didn't know it and at the time I didn't have the words for it but she taught me much more than how to ride a bike, which was significant enough in my young mind. She taught me to stop whining and start learning. She taught me not to listen to people who want to tear you down but to the ones who want to build you up. She taught me that even the people you think have very little to offer can have exactly what you need as well as the grace to give it to you generously...if you have the grace to receive it humbly. Her family moved away not long after that but I still think of her when I see a little kid having training wheels removed. And I smile in gratitude.
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