A Bicycle Story

Almost fifty years ago, I lived in Dorval. I was in kindergarten, my little brother was an infant, and my parents were about to split up for good.
I don’t remember if I had any kind of bicycle but I had certainly never ridden one. But a neighbourhood kid had one and he allowed me to give it a try. Without instruction or adult supervision. And so I did.

My mom was sitting out on the balcony having a smoke, a stay at home mom with a one year old and a bunch of baby-sat kids and it must have been a sweet respite.

And then out of the blue, her five year old cycles by for the first time. On a strange bike. I swear, fifty years later I can still see the expression on her face. Dropping her cigarette and standing straight up to see more closely. Perhaps the first time in my life I recognized the look of wonder.

I don’t know how much taller than three feet I was but in all my life, it’s one of the times I never felt so tall.