Oops...Sorry Dad!

Growing up I lived in a cul-de-sac and there were about four families with young kids. I was one of the youngest and I was always looking up to the other kids. We often spent the afternoons riding bikes in our cul-de-sac. I remember thinking I wanted a bike like the big kids instead of my tricycle. I had a birthday coming up so I told my parents I wanted a bike. I was so excited when my dad rolled in the shiny pink bike with a big red bow, and training wheels.

Later that night I was out on my new bike and practicing. I practiced as often as my parents let me. Soon I was good enough to ride with the big kids. I did that for a while and though it was pretty fun. I got pretty good at it, and wanted to learn to ride without the training wheels.

During this same time my dad was shopping for his first brand new truck. He finally decided on a Crimson (We are a Cougar family) Ford Ranger. He loved his new truck, and parked it in the driveway to show it off.

Later that week I asked him to take my training wheels off and help me learn how to ride my bike. So he got his wrench and took off the wheels. We were in the street and would hold the seat while I got my balance, and then let me ride on my own. We did this a couple times and I was feeling pretty good, a little nervous but confident. So he told me to try on my own. I started off a little shaky but got going pretty fast, a little too fast. I was headed straight towards the driveway. I crashed right into my dad’s brand new truck, and left a good size dent. I remember my dad looking at me, and looking at the dent. It seems like he did it a couple times trying to decide what he should do. What he wanted to do, and what he knew he needed to do were two different things. I started crying because it hurt. I started crying more when I saw that I dented his truck. He told me it was just a truck and it doesn’t matter. Now we look back at it and laugh.