Sometimes what we see as disappointment can actually teach us a valuable lesson about love.
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The kid next door had the coolest bike — a gold tricycle with a visor adorned with two American flags. I wanted a bike like that one and I wanted it badly. Mine was the typical red one – a slightly rusted tricycle, its back tires wobbling as I drove it like a madman up and down my driveway.
Every day I saw the kid with the cool bike, riding it up and down his driveway, maneuvering around the numerous piles of dog shit that always seemed to be present in his yard. For the longest time, I begged my father to get me a bike just like that one and he always said he’d see what he could do.
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One summer evening I was sitting on my rusted red tricycle in front of the garage. My mother and my upstairs neighbor were there, sitting in lawn chairs near the crumbling garage door, talking about “grown up things” as I impatiently waited for my father to come home from work. That day, like every day, I’d ask my mother whether my dad would be coming home with the cool bike with the two flags. She never did have an answer.
Then I saw my father walking into the driveway, dressed in dungarees and a red flannel shirt, holding a small paper bag. He walked over to me, opened the bag, removed two small American flags, then taped them crossways to the handlebars of my bike. What the? I felt a little disappointed, and he patted me on the head and said to me that this was the best he could do.
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I don’t know why but suddenly I understood.
Somehow, it all started to make sense as I watched him sit down beside my mother in front of our crumbling garage door. I rode that bike up and down the driveway like a madman, occasionally looking back to see my father sitting by the garage smiling at me. I didn’t want the gold bike with the two flags anymore. The one I had was the greatest one in the world.
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Photo: Flickr/Tony Alter