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

out into the crisp, mid-august evening and look up at the golden sky. A sound of metal thumping to the ground and a clink of a tool from behind reach my ears. As I twirl around, to my amazement I see two of the wheel on my bike taken off! “Why is he taking apart my bike!?” I thought. “Ok climb on your bike we’re gonna ride.” announced my dad. I was flabbergasted, stupefied, and astounded. “But how can I ride it? You’ve just taken it apart!” I accused. “No, I’ve only taken the training wheels off, today I’m gonna teach you how to ride a bike like the one I have.” answered my dad.
To my horror I realized that my dad actually wanted me to get on the dangerous contraption he had just created! Slowly and unwillingly I climbed up to the seat, I set my shaking hands on the rough patterned handle-bars, and sheepishly approached my certain doom. “Don’t worry I’ll hold on to the bike the whole time.” promised my dad. Cautiously pushing my feet against the pedals, I held so tight to the bars that my sweaty palms turned red.
I hear the slow staccato clinking of metal repeat as I begin to move at a steady pace. “This isn’t so bad,” I think to myself. As I vigilantly move the pedals I hear a sudden exclamation from behind; “You’re doing it!” cries my dad. I quickly halt my sloth-like motions and am dumbfounded to see there is no one holding attentively on to the back of my bike. Nothing but pavement is behind me. I lift my eyes to survey a spectacular scene. My dad stands yards away from me on looking my success with a proud grin on his face.
We walk into a 7-Eleven where I receive my medal of accomplishment, a refreshingly sweet cherry Slurpee, after my hours of victory laps around the parking lot. The icy clumps of sugary syrup slide down my throat, after exciting my taste buds with sudden bursts of flavor. My mind is now consumed by self-congratulations and proud thoughts as we ride home. I barely realize that this skill will open up opportunities through-out the rest of my life, all I know is that victory tastes great.