amazon

My Tricycle

By -
Photo by Rodolfo Mari on Unsplash


In the late sixties, I was three and I had a red tricycle that I loved to ride everywhere. 

Every morning after eating breakfast and saying our goodbyes and watching my dad drive off to work, I would hop on my trusty trike and ride it the few feet to my grandparents house next door. There I would have a cup a coffee (yes at the age of three I was already addicted to the most satisfying and delicious beverage that God had ever created), have a second breakfast and visit. After staying for a while I would get back on my trike and ride up and down the block till my heart's content or until I was called home by my mom. After having dinner with my mom and dad, I would once again mount my trike and go to my grandparents house for a second dinner (you would think that I was huge child from all the double meals but I guess all that exercise I got kept me in pretty good shape). Sometimes I would grab a banana and combine my two favorite activities, eating and cruising up and down the block. Now we lived in a very small down and our house was only three blocks from the Illinois River and one of my other favorite activities was going there with my dad and watching the barges go up and down the river. There was also a Dairy Cream right there beside the river so I got to eat ice cream while watching. One day, on a whim, I started riding my trike through the alley past the shed that was behind our house that held more than a dozen tractors. I wanted to stop and climb on them but the mean men that owned the place scolded me and then told on me, so I wasn't allowed to do that anymore (at least not when anyone was around). I continued on riding until I arrived at my destination, that beautiful river. It was so peaceful sitting there on my trusty little mode of transportation that doubled as a very comfortable seat and watching the barges go up and down the river. I didn't wonder from where they had come or where they were going, I just assumed that they were always there, trudging along, existing in the here and now. Suddenly, I was yanked from my seat and swatted on the bottom a few times. I was confused. Who would dare interrupt my pleasure. It was my mom and she was not pleased with my first solo road trip. Now, I wish that I could say that that had taught me to never do it again, but like the climbing on the tractors, I would do it again and again.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Bullied in a Christian School

By -
Image
Cropped from a Photo by  phil thep  on  Unsplash and Losing Faith First, let me warn you, this is a story that contains violence and a reference to abuse. Back in the mid seventies, when I was in the sixth grade, I was transferred to a small private school out in the middle of Nowhere, USA, that was affiliated with a major religious program that aired nation wide on television. This town was so small, that you had to go outside to change your mind, and that's probably why you couldn't get them to see a different point of view. I was transferred there to avoid the bullies. The problem wasn't that the bullies were picking on me, the problem was I had a temper and I stood up to the bullies with my fist. I was constantly in fights in the public school, because I was the new kid in town, that never said much, and they thought I was an easy target. At first we fought because I wouldn't back down and I stood up to my bullies, but then it became a matter of them want
Read more

My Dad and His Guitar

By -
Image
Photo by  Alasdair Elmes  on  Unsplash He once played guitar for Tex Ritter. Ever since he was a child, my dad played guitar. He told me the stories of how his family didn't have a TV, and of how they would entertain the neighborhood by sitting on the front porch, playing and singing music well into the night. This tradition would carry on for years. Whenever his family would gather together, they would breakout the guitars and play all night long (this was a large family. He was the youngest boy in a family with seven children, and most everyone could either play an instrument or sing.) He taught me how to play bass, so I would join along with them. My favorite part was when we would start playing old swing music like Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree and the songs from the fifties like Johnny B Good. When my dad was still in high school (or just left high school), he played with Tex Ritter at one of his concerts. That was before my time, but I do remember him playing his
Read more

My Wife Joins the Band

By -
Image
Photo by  Philipp M.  on  Unsplash My Wife's Musical Debut. As I stated before, my parents and I were a Gospel band that traveled to different churches (didn't matter what denomination), fairs and special events. When my wife and I had only been dating for about two weeks or so, I invited her to come along to one of those special events. It was a dedication ceremony for a brand new park in a nearby city. there were hundreds if not a thousand people there in attendance. Now this was the first time that she was going to ever see me perform, outside of church, and I was thrilled that my girlfriend was going to be backstage to cheer me on. After we had unloaded and set up the equipment, my dad made a unexpected discovery. We forgot the mic stands! What were we going to do? We couldn't drive back and get them. It was too far and the show was suppose to start soon. There was no way my dad could sing and play guitar without a mic stand, or was there. As any dad has done s
Read more