Write about learning to skate, to ride a bike, to climb a tree, or to turn a cartwheel.
Learning to skate…I never was very good at skating…not roller or ice, or rollerblading. I can do a little of each, but not very well. Skateboarding I cannot do.
Learning to turn a cartwheel…I don’t remember this. I used to be able to turn good cartwheels, all told; I can’t remember it though. I have a faded memory of turning a cartwheel in the front yard at the house in Tuttle. The story goes that I was doing a lovely cartwheel once, toes pointed and all, and I slipped, fell right on my head, and was afraid to cartwheel ever after. I don’t remember the fall or anything about it. I just have that brief, light memory of doing a cartwheel. That’s all.
Learning to climb a tree…who learns to climb a tree? Climbing a tree just seems like something you just do – not something you learn to do.
Learning to ride a bicycle. This is the one that I can do.
Coordinated I am not, and I rode a trike for a long time. Then my parents got me a two-wheeler. It was a little racing bike that was supposed to look like a motorcycle, I think. It was yellow and it had training wheels. The training wheels were off-kilter; this was so I would learn to ride and not let them touch the ground, I was told. If I balanced perfectly, they wouldn’t touch, but I had them if I wobbled.
So I rode everywhere leaning.
I rode in the homecoming parade with Becky, and we got behind everybody because I was so slow on my little bike with my training wheels. We got so far behind that the parade was gone and we went into a church to try to find a phone to call our parents but didn’t find anyone there. I don’t remember after that…I guess one of our parents came looking for us. Becky could have kept up with the parade but she waited for me. I’m glad she did.
Riding a bike was slow and tedious and not fun. My sisters could both ride, but I could not. My parents tried to help me but I was hopeless on that little yellow bike.
One day I was about 8 or so (yes, 8, I know) and I decided to try to ride a different bike. We had an old purple bike with a banana seat, and the tires were okay. It was too big for me, and I could hardly ride it. I tried it anyway.
I rode it perfectly. I rode right into the street, turning north, rode towards Autrys’, turned, rode back and went up in the driveway.
It was exhilarating.
After all that time being unable to ride the little yellow bike, to be able to ride the purple bike was almost like a miracle. And to be able to do it without falling or anything…imagine that!
The yellow bike was obviously too small for me to ride. I had thought that it would be easier, and safer, to ride the little bike, but I couldn’t get my balance right on the tiny thing. It was only when I gave in, got on the purple bike, and just went for it that I was able to fly down the street. That bike and I became inseparable, and I logged a lot of miles on that banana seat.
Mom wrote about me being “finally able to ride a bike” in my baby book, and noted the date. Just in case I might have tried to forget that I couldn’t ride a bike until the summer after third grade. Sheesh. A person can’t even pretend to be cool around here.
Oh yes. That is me, getting ready to ride the banana seat bike in the Tuttle fair parade. The bike is actually purple under all that crepe paper. I don’t know if I won the decorated bike contest, but I obviously should have.