Personal Narrative

“Let’s go ride our bikes!” proposes my dad, and my eyes light up with eager excitement. I stumble down the stairs and skip out to the garage. Instinctively I walk over to my glossy pink bike, standing in the corner, presiding over all the other inferior toys. No sooner have I done this than my dad lifts it out from under my nose and begins to strap the helpless hostage to the back of the car. “What are you doing?” I chirp with a quizzical expression on my face. “We’re going to ride somewhere else for a change.” Explains my dad. Puzzled and curious, but undaunted I shrug my shoulders and climb up into the vehicle. As we reach our destination, I realize we are going to ride in the vacant parking lot of the Middle School near our house. I wander