July 11, 2012

July 11, 2012

     My first feeling of independence was probably the day I turned six years old. I got a brand new bike for my birthday. It was equipped with all of the bells and whistles a little girl could dream for. It was pink, purple, and white and had coordinating colored tassels coming out the ends of the handle bars; but that wasn’t all, it even had a woven basket on the front, once again the woven pieces were made of the same colors and it came with a purple water bottle! I thought, “Oh man, I NEED this!” This wasn’t the feeling of freedom, the true feeling of freedom was when my Dad took off my bikes brand new training wheels. They were so shiny and white; never had been used and never were used. Our front yard was very flat, you walked out of the front door, onto the front porch and it just kept going. So my Dad helped me upon my new bike and we took off through the yard. The first few times we took off from the front porch he had a hold of my seat, then we started out again and as I looked back grinning at him, he was way back at the front porch and I was half way across the yard! He yelled, “Keep going, you’ve got it!!” and I did. I never looked back. I rode that bike every chance I got. We lived in rural area off of a county dirt road and my grandparents lived just down from us. My Mom would let me ride my bike down to see them and I thought I was so big going that short distance, but being six years old it seemed so far away. I didn’t know it then, but my Mom would call my Grandma so she would know to be watching for me.