Today’s my dad’s birthday, so I decided to surprise him with something different in addition to a gift card. In a way, this story was the spark of inspiration for this blog. We live in different parts of Ontario, so I wanted to share it with him as easily as possible. This way, he can read it on his tablet at his leisure.
This story is grown from kernels of truth…
Once upon a time, many years ago, a young boy lived in a far-off land with his family. If there was one thing this boy wanted in life, it was to own his own bicycle. Bicycles were so common where he lived that lines of them streamed through the streets all day. Everyone owned one, or at least, that was how it felt to the young boy. The mailman had one. The factory workers rode by on their way to their shifts on them. The family next door had several. Even the minister’s wife rode one around town while making calls, which scandalized the elders and secretly thrilled the church women.
But the young boy did not have his own bicycle yet. He was the odd man out in his class, and he felt it keenly. He knew why he was the only one. It wasn’t because his parents couldn’t afford it, they had several already. No, it was because he’d been sick for over a year and they were worried that he wasn’t strong enough yet. Every time the doctor visited, hopes were raised and then dashed.
But the young boy remained eternally hopeful. He pored over cycling advertisements in the newspaper, cutting out the pictures and details of the models he liked and pasting them into a little notebook. His older brother and sister laughed at his obsession, but not harshly, because they were secretly rooting for him to get his heart’s desire.