Monday, December 21, 2009
A nine year old girl is riding a bike. The sky is blue. White peak of the mountain range stands in the background.
The day before yesterday, her bike passed me by wobbling. I said to her father,
“May be the seat is too high.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, “She’s riding this kind for the first time. She could have done it earlier, but she didn’t.”
“Every kid is different. Like us,” I said.
“Yep, that’s right,” he said.
In the meantime, she didn’t bump into the parked cars or truck, managed to make a U-turn at the end of the cul-de-sac, and came back.
“That’s impressive,” I said to the father, “The first day I rode my bike, I hit against my neighbor’s fence. I couldn’t turn.”
Next day, she is riding her bike again. The father is standing on the sidewalk watching her. I say to him on the way to my walk.
“She learns fast. The bike isn’t wobbling much.”
He says yes.
“She is so cute,” I said.
The third day, the cul-de-sac was clear. No truck. I see the back of the father’s head over a parked car. A block away, I see the back of two young girls on bike at the stop sign. The father holds his arms in front. The girls with helmets cross the street. I walk toward the father. He stares straight to the street like a rock. His chin is close to the neck. I’m only used to his smile and greetings. So I said,
“She might bring back her fiancé. Watch out!”
His eyes widened.
“What!? She just!…only…. riding!….a bike!”
His cheeks reddened.
Hee hee hee. I had my fun of the day. He made a big grin.