SWEET RIDE

Her dream finally comes true.

My sister had a way with words— but not the ones I wanted to hear. “Listen, you brat, what makes you think you’re getting a bike for Christmas?”

My yearning for a bicycle of my own had taken over my young life. It seemed that each birthday and Christmas, I was having a harder time hiding my disappointment. I didn’t want dolls, clothes or toys, only my two-wheeled dream.

As my eighth birthday approached, my parents explained that because a bike wasn’t in their budget that year, they were giving me a day at The Pike amusement park in Long Beach—just Mom, Dad and me. I was one of six children, so this was indeed a treat for my memory bank.

My parents sat through two movies of my choice—a Western with Johnny Mack Brown and a Tarzan flick with Johnny Weissmuller—and bought me my first cotton candy. It was a magical day.

Still, it wasn’t a bike. The Christmas after I turned 9, I was beginning to despair that I’d ever have a two-wheeler to call my own. The family was opening gifts, and I could see that nothing was big enough to suggest “bike” under all the wrapped presents.

Then my father said, “Patty, would you please bring me some handkerchiefs from the bedroom?”

I did as requested, but when I opened the door, my eyes popped.

There sat a yellow balloon-tired girl’s bicycle, with the word “ROCKET” down the front fork in bright blue letters. I ran back to my dad.

“There’s a bike in there!” The whole family cheered.

I have received many wonderful gifts over the years, but nothing matched the shiny yellow beauty I got the Christmas of my ninth year.