I didn’t know bikes sold in stores in shiny red and blue;
My bike was made of junk yard parts my daddy sorted through.
My brother and my sisters all had bikes that Daddy also made;
And learning to ride my own bike was something that I craved.
My Daddy promised me a bike when I reached six years old;
As that birthday loomed ahead, my begging grew more bold.
Finally he went to the basement to build a bike for me,
Using all those rusted parts he picked up nearly free.
The bike he built was very large for a little girl like me;
So I had to learn while standing up, but how hard could that be?
With staunch determination, I tried and took a fall,
And wished with all my little heart that bike was not so tall;
But in time I learned to stand and ride which made my daddy proud
Of how I took those many falls and never cried out loud.
My bike was balanced perfectly and I could ride, “no hands”
After I grew tall enough to sit instead of stand.
The bike was never shiny and it really wasn’t “new”
But it taught a little girl to have fun while “making do”.
( A completely true poetic story)
by Betty Killebrew
Read more articles, stories and poems by Betty Killebrew at: www.trovemagazine.com