Dream Machine

My dream machine was blue and white, complete with matching streamers and a banana seat. It was my first bike, and certainly the one I remember with the most fondness. For what seemed like a long time, my sleek friend had training wheels attached to the back, clattering around the cul-de-sac and back to our driveway. I had more than one spill from that sacred banana seat, but my Dad always managed to convince me to get back on. I persisted, dreaming of the day I would coast past my house like all the other big kids...sans training wheels.

Dad was my guide during the learning process. His was the hand steadying my bike, the voice of encouragement when I doubted myself, and the smiling face when I reached my childhood goal. It must have been a spring day, warm and carefree. This was the day that I was going to cast my training wheels aside and be a BIG KID. After a few quick turns of a screwdriver, my pride and joy had graduated to two-wheel status. Dad and I did a practice run around the block, gaining speed and courage. For reassurance, my father had one hand on the back of the blue-and-white banana seat. Ponytail flying out behind me, wind in my hopeful face, I turned my head to look again for his familiar face...only to find that my father had let go. I saw him getting smaller and smaller, waving from the driveway as I coasted triumphantly around the bend in the road. How my little heart swelled in my chest! Eyes gleaming, I returned to my father....arms outstretched, expression proud but tinged with perhaps a bit of sadness.

My sweet ride is long gone, keeping company with memories of Play-Doh and a child-sized stove. But almost twenty-five years later, I recall the streamers waving in the wind, firm grip on the handlebars, and scrawny legs pedaling furiously into the future.