Wednesday, August 17, 2011
When I was a little girl, I had a bicycle almost exactly like this one. I LOVED that bike. It made me happy. I thought it was beautiful. I loved the sparkly white seat. I loved the cornflower blue paint. I loved riding it. I loved jumping the curb with it. I loved giving other kids a ride on the back of it. I loved the handlebars. I loved everything.
But I was indeed surprised this last weekend when my son, Christian, showed up at my door with a "surprise for you, Mamma." I really couldn't guess what it might be. Even though I know my son eats, lives, and breathes all things bicycular. (I think I made that word up--but it fits.) ; )
To my delight and surprise, this it what he brought home for me:
"Now, I know it looks a little rough right now," he said.
"But I can fix it up to be like brand new and we can paint it any color you want."
I giggled and laughed at his silly surprise. Someone had brought it into the bike shop where he works and just given it to them.
"I can't ride that thing!" I declared, hesitantly.
But he insisted that I at least sit down on it.
And when I held those handlebars in my hands, the memories all came flooding back. I was 10 years old again. Riding down the street with the wind blowing my long blonde hair out behind me. I had energy. I was powerful. I was fast. I was free!
Even if we never get the bike fixed up and even if I never ride again on a banana seat, that moment of remembering was well worth it.