It's one of my favorite memories from my childhood.
I was one of two children--only 7 months younger than my sister--so I grew up hearing our grandmother's reminders that my sister would get her china when she died. She would also get the quilts, our mother's wedding band, and anything else a first child receives at someone's passing. It wasn't intended to hurt me, but it did.
I remember thinking that my only inheritance would be the bicycle from hell that she eventually grew tired of riding. Somehow, the tall bike had worked for her, but I couldn't master it. One day, I took the corner across the street from our house (and most of the asphalt that belonged to it) with me. I still bare the scar from that fall. I hated that bike, and I was pretty sure it hated me back.
So, for my birthday that year (which falls in June), my dad loaded the family into the station wagon, and we headed downtown for ice cream to celebrate. That's all I thought we would be doing on that trip. But what happened next solidified my father's place in the Hero Hall of Fame.
He took us to the BF Goodrich store and told me that I could pick out a bike as my birthday gift. Any bike I wanted. And it would be MY bike; not a leftover, and not one that someone else would pick out for me. I found the cutest hot pink ride, with a banana seat and a bar that rose up tall on the back end to hold a friend in place. The finishing touch would be a white basket with pink roses on the front. It was the prettiest bike in the store, and it was all mine.
Everything about that day and that bike was perfect, but the most perfect of all was walking out of that store in the shadow of my daddy. I remember feeling like the most loved child in the world (and my dad still makes me feel that way today).
Why? Because my dad always seemed to notice me.
He always seemed to know when I needed to be reminded that I was loved. It really didn't come through "things" or money. (Honestly, that was a rare occasion, because my parents had two little girls close in age, and the toys got more expensive when cars and college came around). We didn't take family vacations, and we didn't eat out a lot. We were just an average American family, living in an average-sized neighborhood, with average-style cars, and a black and white television set.
But once upon a time, there was a pink bike with a banana seat and a white basket with roses. And the little girl that rode it felt like the richest child in that average-sized neighborhood.
That's what love can do to little girl hearts, especially when your dad is a more-than-average sized hero like mine is.
