My First Bike

Note: This is an entry for Scribbit's write-away contest. The photo is not me...but the bike is identical! I love the early '80s!

My First Bike

Before I got my first big-girl bike I had a Superman Powerwheel. Remember those things? I used to ride it around my Spider-Man kiddie pool (see a theme here?) on my dirt driveway. We lived in the woods of rural Maine, so I didn’t have anyone else to play with except my uncle Jeffy, who was 8 years older than me and very into super heros – hence my genre of choice when it came to the plastic things I surrounded myself with.

I remember getting my first big girl bike because I stumbled upon it by mistake. My parents had tried to hide it under a tarp in the space under the stairs to our back door. I don’t remember how I came upon noticing it, but I instantly knew I wasn’t supposed to have found it…that it was a surprise for me.

It was red. It had that special shiny, candy, metallic red that only a new bike can have. The glorious banana seat had Strawberry Shortcake all over it. Oh boy! I was WAY into Strawberry Shortcake at 6 years sold and couldn’t believe my luck that her shiny pink oversized face came plastered all over a new bike for me.

I asked my parents about it and they said that yes, that bike was for me, and that they were waiting to put training wheels on it and that’s why it was hidden.

My dad couldn’t put those training wheels on fast enough! My first big girl bike and it was most definitely ALL GIRL! No more Superman, no more Spider-Man, adios, Hulk! My shiny new pink and red bike was here to stay.

I got really good at riding my bike up and down my dirt driveway. So good in fact that my dad asked me if I was ready to take off the training wheels and REALLY have a big girl bike. Sure, I shrugged, how hard could it be to ride a two wheeler?

Hard. And being a stubborn child I didn’t want anyone to help me.

I must have started and fallen down over a dozen times. My dad suggested practicing on the lawn for a softer landing than the driveway could provide. It still hurt! I remember one time I fell and crushed my 6-year-old vagina on the side of the banana seat and oh my god did I cry. Only a girl can know how much that hurts.

I wanted my dad to put my training wheels back on but he wouldn’t. “Sorry kiddo – you’ll just have to keep practicing.”

I stormed off frustrated. But it didn’t last long. Pretty soon I let my dad hold the back of my banana seat and help me along. I didn’t want him to let go, but eventually he did. He didn’t take credit for teaching me, either, or make me feel bad for not asking him for help sooner. He always knew the right time to console me when I fell or leave me alone when I was angry. He knew when to hold on and when to let go.

Over 20 years have gone by since Strawberry Shortcake and I learned how to work together, and my dad still knows when to hold on, when to let go, and when to give me a little shove in the right direction.