As I was paging through a magazine today, a picture caught my eye of a tricycle that was left alone in the middle of a sidewalk with no child or an adult around. It brought a smile to my face as a childhood memory came forth.
I was five years old and the depression was still going on, my father did have a job earning fifteen dollars a week, with which he had to feed and clothe his five children.
There was no money left over for frills such as a tricycle.
Several of my friends in the neighborhood had a trike as we called it, and would ride by and say to me; "When are you going to get a tricycle?" Or they would say in a taunting way "Look at us, look at us how fast we can go." I would answer; "I don't need a trike. I don't want one."
Sometimes I would run into the house, go to my room and cry. At five you can't rationalize as to why you can't have that tricycle.
But one day my older brother came to me and said, "Come outside little sister, there is something for you." I could hardly believe my eyes, as there was a brand new bright red tricycle sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
I said, "is it really mine, is it really mine" as I ran to my brother and hugged him. Yes, it was really mine and a bond was made that day that lasted through the years.
It was when I was in my 20s that I first learned how he got his little sister that trike. He had a five dollar gold piece that he treasured and had been saving it to buy himself a bicycle so that he could deliver his paper route easier and faster than with the coaster wagon he used. Instead he bought me that trike and made a little girl very happy.
When he passed away and I walked forward to say my goodbye, I smiled as I placed a small red toy bicycle in his coffin so that he would have some mode of transportation on which to ride into heaven.