Wednesday, December 04, 2013
In The Pursuit of Happiness: On my childhood bike
I outfitted myself with an oversize cap and gown even before I could walk, immersing myself in the university experience by the age of 3. Well, it wasn't really my choice, more like my mother's, but I didn't protest. While she went to class, I played, laughed and ate milk and cookies in the hallowed halls of own classroom. It was the ultimate pre-preschool, if you will, and my young self felt “cool” to be in the presence of those wise college students who took care of us. My 3-year-old self, in large post-disco blue bell bottoms and a colorful stripped shirt, reveled in being a member of that exclusive club. Apparently, though, I was the only one in the club.
And when we (yes, Mr. Bike and I) skipped outside and found “our” triangle, no one could have saved us. We were too far gone at that point; our metaphorical triangle was completed by, well, an actual patch of cement in the shape of a triangle, a huge wad of grass as the centerpiece. Day after day, I hopped on Mr. Bike and went around in circles -- literally. Lap after lap around that geometrical land of goodness. I didn't seem to notice the girls laughing on the swings or the boys monkeying around on the monkey bars. That was pure child's play to me. I'd found the jackpot, and I certainly wasn't in any hurry to give it up. So I continued to make my rounds, perhaps out of comfort or because you know I'm a pro routine girl, but that triangle kept calling me.