Banana Seat Schwinn Bikes and Daddy's Boots

I must tell you of a life altering experience that happened to me while growing up. Looking back now I was very blessed growing up in the home I did. We had everything we needed and more because of our hard working parents. Only now that I am older do I see how my parents must have struggled to pay for a new house, two cars, and all the accessories that 3 kids needed.

It never once crossed my mind that perhaps I was being slightly ungrateful as I tooled around one summer on my beautiful red Schwinn bike. When the bike was purchased, it was the hottest thing around for kid's fashion that summer. You know what I'm talking about, the ol' Schwinn with the "banana seat". The bike was a beauty with a red frame, shiny chrome fenders, and a chrome chain guard. You could drive this baby full speed through a puddle and those flashy fenders would ford off all the water so that you narely got even a drop of muddy water on your white tube socks with stripes pulled up to the knees.

However, being naive and unaware of the constant daily sacrifice my parents battled of showing up to work each and every day for what could have been pure misery (which later I found out was the case as my father's company ended up giving him a heart attack), the discontent of my summer blossomed one day as I stood at the crab apple tree near the end of our driveway.

You see, I was pouting. I had a new vision of what I wanted. This vision was spawned by the lust in my eyes as I observed several neighbors riding new BMX bikes. Their black "mag" wheels, flashy bar pads, and pure chrome frames eclipsed my mind with infatuation. I had already approached my parents and diplomatically enlightened them with my newest need and was taken back with what I see now to be a frequent answer I give: "maybe next year sweetie." As this screaming want grew at a tumorous rate inside my mind, I formulated a plan for action. We shall call it an "accelerator" to what I wanted to take place-getting that new BMX bike.

In pure genious-istic picturesque form, an idea so cunning and evil snapped into my young mind, I grinned. As I glanced at this crab apple tree with its poisonous red berries and small pokey thorns, I knew what I had to do. "Just break the thorn off the tree, and puncture the tire. Flat tire, new bike. " Perfection. Almost. Make that two popped tires. Even better.

As I swaggered toward the house with my faux grimace to tell my mother of the news, I focused on keeping a sad look on my face even though the satisfaction of my lofty plan being carried out made my brain fire with ecstasy.

Upon reaching my dear mother, I saw the look on her face and immediately recognized the fact that I now had a major problem. The intelligent smile on her face made me suspicious as I began to tell of this disaster of my two tires being flat and the fact that I would need a new bike or be unable to ride all summer. She softly looked at me and said, "Gene, I saw you pop the tires. You can speak to your father when he gets home."

At that moment, I believe I experienced what the occupant of a plummeting plane headed for peril must feel like. My stomach sunk as though I had just fallen off a large cliff and was speeding toward the dangerous jagged rocks below.

After scolding from my father and being bikeless for several weeks, the tires were patched and I soon fell back in love with that ol' Schwinn. The freedom that little red wonder provided me for several summers and the wonderful memories I have including being surrounded by several other neighborhood kids to admire the machine after having beat their BMX's in overall speed, performance, and comfort.

However, that plummeting feeling I experienced knowing my plan had been foiled was nothing compared to what I experienced several days later. This sickening, heart-wrenching pain occurred through self discovery. I clearly recall when the error of my selfishness hit me. It was when I saw my father napping on the couch after a hard weeks work filled with overtime and what I now am familiar with, STRESS. You see, as I gazed upon this sleeping man who was literally knocking minutes off his life each day to toil and provide for me, the sight of his toes sticking out of the torn afghan and the holes in his socks caused a tear to form in my eyes. And when I glanced to the base of the couch, I saw his worn boots that were much in need of repair. They were weathered, torn, and well past the time of their use.

I weeped.

I got that BMX on my birthday the next year. And it's funny that some 22 years later, I can hardly remember what it looked like. I do have a vivid memory of his boots. Today, as I picked up my own boots to go to work, I smiled.