My “real dad” came to see me one day when I was about seven years old. I recognized him right away, even though I hadn’t seen much of him since he and Mom divorced when I was about three.
On this rare visit he brought me a present, a shiny new bicycle, my very first! It was a sturdy “one speed,” Huffy, black with white pin stripes and shiny chrome. I had already learned to ride on the neighbor kids bikes, so I was very excited!
My horizons were immediately broadened. I was amazed at how quickly this thing would move the pavement under me; and it was mine!
Before long, I had transformed my bicycle into a faster and sleeker pedal fast speed machine. I took the fenders and chain-guard off to drop dead weight, and I lowered the handle bars for more peddle pumping leverage. It was so cool! Some left over model car decals added that perfect finishing touch.
I rode that bike everywhere, on road and off. I rode it daily to Lake Shore School until it disappeared from the school bike rack, it was gone! Stolen! Somebody stole my bike!
Imagine my surprise and relief when I found it lying in a friend’s driveway as I walked home. He didn’t steal it, he was walking with me. After that day, I walked to school. I didn’t have a bike lock.
One day getting home, I followed my daily path through the empty lot that bordered our back yard. When I reached our patio, I found my step-dad working on my bike.
Before this day, he had never given me anything, he had never done anything with me, and he had never done anything for me. That’s just how it was. But now he had installed new fenders, a chain guard, a basket, and even a headlight on my bike!
I was very confused. I didn’t know why he was doing this for me (it was completely out of character), and though he was doing this very nice thing, I felt terribly ungrateful because I really didn’t like what he was doing to my bike.
I stood there in silent disbelief, watching him from behind, not knowing what to say or do. I finally said, “Gee Dad, you didn’t have to do all that for me.”
He answered without turning from his work, “I’m not. I’m giving this bike to your brother, Loren, for his birthday.”
I stood there waiting for the rest of the words, the kind that would sometimes follow disappointment. Words like, “Don’t you worry – your birthday is coming soon and I bet you’ll get a brand new bike,” or maybe, “Christmas is just around the corner and I’m sure Santa will bring you a better bike than this.” I waited, but, there were no other words. That was it.
Happy Birthday, little brother.