By Merlin Lessler<\/p>\n
It happened when I was seven; the best Christmas present a kid (in the fifties) could hope for was under the tree. A bicycle! My sister, Madeline, and I both got bikes that year, second-hand but freshened up with a new coat of paint. We didn\u2019t care; they sparkled, as did our eyes when we saw them under the tree. But into the basement they went to wait for spring to arrive. <\/span><\/p>\n Finally, the first robin arrived, and the bikes came out. We lived on a hill; it was steep and a terrible place to learn how to ride. My father helped me push it up to a flat street at the top of our hill that hardly had any traffic on it.<\/p>\n I still remember the exhilaration of staying upright while he pushed me. I remember even more vividly the terror I felt when I looked over my shoulder and discovered he wasn\u2019t there. I panicked and crashed to the ground.<\/p>\n He eventually convinced me that I\u2019d kept the bike upright all by myself and didn\u2019t need his help, except to get started.<\/p>\n I hopped back on, and like Hop-a-long Cassidy, my cowboy hero, rode off into the sunset. One problem: I didn’t know how to dismount. When I came to a stop, I simply fell over. <\/span><\/p>\n My sister solved the problem. She raced ahead, jumped off her bike, and caught me as I came to a stop. Later on, I just stopped near a curb and put out my foot so I could climb off.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t my fault; the bike was too big, like everything in those days. We had to \u201cgrow into\u201d stuff: shoes, clothes, skates, sleds, and bikes. I went around in oversized jeans (we called them dungarees) with a six inch cuff, shoes with wadded up newspaper stuffed in the toes, and to top it off, I had to use a curb to get on and off my bike. Now that I\u2019m in my 80\u2019s, I still use a curb when one is available. <\/span><\/p>\n I developed a deep relationship with that two-wheeler. I don’t think a cowboy ever loved his horse more than I loved that bike. It was freedom; it was status; and it taught me how to fix things.<\/p>\n I learned to take it apart and convert it into a racing bike by removing the fenders, reversing the handlebars, and raising the seat. Sometimes, I decorated it with red, white, and blue crepe paper and rode at the tail end of Memorial Day and Fourth of July parades. A lot of kids did. We also \u201cclothes pinned\u201d a piece of cardboard to the fender support so it would flap against the spokes and make it sound like we were riding a motorcycle. It didn\u2019t take much to entertain a kid back in the fifties.<\/p>\n When I turned 12, I found a lightweight English bike with hand brakes and three gears under the tree. It was brand-new and the exact right size. I was ecstatic, but I\u2019ll always think of that used, repainted first bicycle as the best Christmas present ever.<\/p>\n I hope your Christmas was as merry as mine was back then.<\/p>\n