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First Bicycle Ride

This was suicide. I could not wrap it all around my head why I was the only one seeing this. Every other person was laughing or had a smirk or a grin on their face. What was so amusing about watching someone rolling down to their death and cheering them on the way? I could not find a word to describe them. Evil alone does not even begin to cut it but it would do for now. Every one of them was evil; even my father who had just shown up for the first time to this torturous exercises. Tears had just started to well up my eyes when I stormed off. No one bothered to stop me this time. I think the first few times they had tried taught them a life lesson on the same. Do not mess with an angry six year old boy. He will bite. He will bite hard.

Looking back when I was six year old and a few years later, I cannot comprehend how I used to throw such tantrums and where I got the strength to do it from. I suppose that explains why I hardly show any emotion now. I have already used up my share during my younger years. On closer evaluation, I could justify why I used to throw such fits at that age. My big brothers were full time bullies. They closely followed each other in age hence they more or less resembled each other; both physically and character wise. When they bullied, they bullied together and they did it good. Actually, I do not remember them being good at anything else but. Consequently, they got into a lot of trouble in school. The worst part is nobody seemed to care about this issue. My father actually smirked every time such a report came through from school and even though he and mom reprimanded them, even a toddler like me could see the reprimand was half-hearted. This encouraged the brothers to perfect their skill even more. Guess who was the ‘bully dummy’? As if I expected any less, my parents seem to have no issue. They said that it was good that I was hardening up. I remember asking myself what does hardening up even mean. This question I would ask for quite some time

The learn how to ride a bicycle idea surprisingly came from me. I figured that if I were going to be roughed up, the least I could do is benefit from it. When the semantics of the whole process of riding a bicycle was explained in theory, it looked like an easy piece of work. I only had to sit down on the bicycle once to figure that out. For starters, I expected that I would be taught by a small bicycle just for my size. The ‘no new bicycle’ warning was slammed on my face upon request by my father. The excuse is that it would be beneficial to learn the normal bicycle so that I can help bicycle chores as soon as possible. Next I thought that some new wheels would be installed on the sides for additional balance. This request I asked my brother who in response not only declined but swore not to help me balance on the bicycle until I learnt myself. The bicycle turned out to be a two wheeled vehicle from hell.

According to stories that I was told by my parents at the time, my big brothers each learnt how to ride the bicycle within two hours. They learnt when they were three years old and if those details don’t drive the point home enough, the brothers learnt riding alone with no outside assistance from parents or friends. I think I was being this told stories so that they may intimidate me. A normal kid would have grown up with acceptance and self-esteem issues but instead I grew up more determined to do everything differently so that it would make angry my parents and brothers.

I could no longer tell how long we had been repeating the same exercise. It all starts with being dragged outside, the bicycle being pulled up, final pictures taken, someone placing me on the bicycle and being rolled from the top of the small hill. Then I would roll until a few meters after which I would always fall on the same spot. To say the truth, I expected my brothers to figure out my secret when I fell. Considering their intellectual capacities at the time, the eventuality of this happening was very rare.

My secret was that I already knew how to ride a bicycle. After burying my face in shame for so long, I decided to throw in the towel and teach myself the known art. Any personal chances I got to be all alone in the house I used for teaching myself. After a few personal sessions I finally mastered the art. I knew it was nowhere as good as how fast my brothers learnt that is why I never told them. I was secretly planning on the day that I would pretend to have learnt within a few minutes during one of the training sessions and start pulling some complicated bicycle moves all on the same day. This meant I still had a lot of practicing to do since bicycle extra signatures are difficult and hard to learn.

After a few short sessions I was finally ready to come out. I planned to do this on one weekend where I estimated my both parents would be present. I had already picked out the realistic bicycle techniques I would be showing off. The looks on their faces that I imagined were worth the weight. I had even prepared a list of sarcastic insults for my brothers. The day was working out as planned. My father and mother were both free. My brothers were glancing around preparing to pounce on me to drag me outside. If they knew today I would be all too willing. However, I had to make sure that they suspect nothing. My fantasy had just started to roll its course when suddenly it started raining furiously.

I remember being overwhelmed with all the wrong emotions. I remember my parents being confused as they did not know why I was getting angry because of missing a bicycle practice session. The session was never to come. The next day the family woke up to find me riding my bicycle peacefully outside without any audience. I had decided then some battles are not worth fighting and this one was one of them.