Twenty one

This one is a big one.

When I was a kid we did not have a lot of “things”.  I can remember a lot of shared gifts Santa brought – with my 2 (not always great at sharing) sisters. One older, the boss of us girls and one younger (the grumpy one). My brother is the youngest, and being from a family that he is the sole owner of the family name to carry on – got everything. Plus he had no interest at all in girls toys (matchbox cars ruled).

Now the older sister always had everything perfect in her room (I believe it’s called OCD now). At a young age I think she discovered the blueprints on spy gear somewhere and would often “booby trap” her room where the Barbie’s and one Ken doll were housed. Many times I attempted to take them out and each time was found out and reprimanded. It became somewhat of a job like challenge to me to take it to another level and just strip the dolls of their fancy cloths and wrap them in my newly invented designer toilet paper clothing. Even at a young age I knew some how art would have a profound impact on my life. Needless to say she would become so enraged after I discovered I was never going to be a hair stylist with sharp scissors she started locking her bedroom door. The younger sister was somewhat fun but for some reason we were so different and often our personalities clashed as good children do for their parents. Always peaking during Christmas break (after the gifts are opened).

It seems like yesterday. My oldest sister was always the first to wake up at 3am and go down and peak. She would come back up and report her findings. My Mom stopped her this one particular year and told her “Go back to bed until 6 or I am calling Santa and telling him to take everything back”. For this one time in her life she listened to my Mom as I knew she could tell, she was serious.

Three hours felt like a lifetime, thinking, hoping, wondering…. please let there not be coal. We had all learned that lesson the year before as Santa had brought grumpy sister some and hid her most wanted gift somewhere else in the house. Lots of tears for her that year, followed by joy and a note from Santa to be good.

As I descended down the stairs when Mom yelled up “go time” I lost my footing and took a sleigh ride down the stairs with out the sled. BUT who cares…. it’s Christmas and I was a kid looking for presents.

Then there before my very eyes with a big bow was the answer to every childs dream of freedom…. the best most beautiful cruiser ever. It was mighty fine… metallic blue, with white streamers on the handles and a basket to carry everything you need for an adventure.

That bicycle brought me around the world, and probably way too far by todays standard of kids going places on their own. But it was freedom and it was my freedom.  From that Christmas day on, the tires were dirty. In the spring I would wash it every Sunday and sometimes my dad would even let me wax it. In the history of bicycles I don’t think anyone has appreciated as much as I did that bicycle. It taught me independence and decision-making. The many years I rode that bicycle I only hit one parked car (finally telling someone just a few years ago so I am guilt free).

Thank you Santa, for giving me the means to explore the world on my own.♥