A new bike was big news to a young girl growing up in a small community in Alabama. The bike was a bright purple similar to the color of a grape Popsicle. The plastic grips covering the ends of the handlebars were the perfect size for the hands of a primary school age girl. The pink, purple and silver streamers dangling from the handlebars added just the right amount of feminine flair. The glittery seat comprised of the same colors made the bike a dream come true for me. I was a princess on a royal bike. Trumpets sounded each time I made the circle though the driveway and across the yard back to the starting point at granddaddy's garage. Dadada DAAAA.....here she comes on her shiny new bike.....Princess Sandra.
It mattered not one bit that no one else thought of me in those terms. I was kind of a homely child and sported a short haircut that often called my gender into question. The words princess and Sandra just did not come together very often unless it was me combining the two words. I did not care because I had a shiny new bike. Princess Sandra was going places now and the world she was leaving behind could kiss her.....ahhh. ..better not go there (my auntie Betty is a reader).
A week or so passed and I blissfully rode my bike everyday. I rode it to explore the jungle behind Grandmother and Granddaddy's house careful not to disturb the wild animals who made their home there. I rode my bike in the open pasture careful to avoid the piles of you know what. I pretended the bike was my car and I had an apartment in a big city where I was an overpaid paid fashion model. The bike was my ticket out of Center Hill. I was going places now!
One morning as I was washing my bike my older brother, Timmy, approached me with a proposition. "You like your bike now? Wait til I get through with it." I should have known better but the idea was just too tempting. "What can you do to make it better?" He stuck out his chest and said "I can't tell you I have to show you. Just let me work on it for you" I should have been suspicious because he kept staring at me. I now know it was the big red S for sucker written across my forehead that he was looking at.
Timmy was given a new bike on the same day I got mine. His bike was red with a blue seat. It was a nice bike but no where near the level of coolness that my bike had. I agreed to allow him to make my bike better. He proceeded to take both bikes apart, unscrewing bolts and and placing bicycle parts in a pile near the door in Granddaddy's garage. I began to feel a little nervous when I realized he was "working" on both bikes at the same time. How was he going to know which pieces came from which bike? I voiced my concerns to Timmy. "You're going to have to get out of here and leave me alone if you want me to finish this." My gut feeling told me I was never going to see my bike again.
I hoped that my gut feeling was wrong and it sort of was. I did see pieces of my bike again. Timmy had combined parts of both bikes together. My sparkly glitter seat had been replaced with his blue seat. The basket was missing, apparently it was too much trouble to put back on. The streamers were gone from the handlebars and various parts of my bike were now on his bike and visa versa. Both bikes were covered in grease and so was my brother.
I learned a lesson that day, a lesson that cost me my bike. If it ain't broke, don't let Timmy fix it. If it is broke, don't let Timmy fix it.
It mattered not one bit that no one else thought of me in those terms. I was kind of a homely child and sported a short haircut that often called my gender into question. The words princess and Sandra just did not come together very often unless it was me combining the two words. I did not care because I had a shiny new bike. Princess Sandra was going places now and the world she was leaving behind could kiss her.....ahhh. ..better not go there (my auntie Betty is a reader).
A week or so passed and I blissfully rode my bike everyday. I rode it to explore the jungle behind Grandmother and Granddaddy's house careful not to disturb the wild animals who made their home there. I rode my bike in the open pasture careful to avoid the piles of you know what. I pretended the bike was my car and I had an apartment in a big city where I was an overpaid paid fashion model. The bike was my ticket out of Center Hill. I was going places now!
One morning as I was washing my bike my older brother, Timmy, approached me with a proposition. "You like your bike now? Wait til I get through with it." I should have known better but the idea was just too tempting. "What can you do to make it better?" He stuck out his chest and said "I can't tell you I have to show you. Just let me work on it for you" I should have been suspicious because he kept staring at me. I now know it was the big red S for sucker written across my forehead that he was looking at.
Timmy was given a new bike on the same day I got mine. His bike was red with a blue seat. It was a nice bike but no where near the level of coolness that my bike had. I agreed to allow him to make my bike better. He proceeded to take both bikes apart, unscrewing bolts and and placing bicycle parts in a pile near the door in Granddaddy's garage. I began to feel a little nervous when I realized he was "working" on both bikes at the same time. How was he going to know which pieces came from which bike? I voiced my concerns to Timmy. "You're going to have to get out of here and leave me alone if you want me to finish this." My gut feeling told me I was never going to see my bike again.
I hoped that my gut feeling was wrong and it sort of was. I did see pieces of my bike again. Timmy had combined parts of both bikes together. My sparkly glitter seat had been replaced with his blue seat. The basket was missing, apparently it was too much trouble to put back on. The streamers were gone from the handlebars and various parts of my bike were now on his bike and visa versa. Both bikes were covered in grease and so was my brother.
I learned a lesson that day, a lesson that cost me my bike. If it ain't broke, don't let Timmy fix it. If it is broke, don't let Timmy fix it.
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