Bikes on Christmas

I think, or at least hope, everyone has a story of when they were a little kid and they got something really cool as a gift. I remember when I was growing up, it took me a really long time to learn to ride a bike. My Dad always got frustrated trying to teach me, since I was too scared to stay on and not crash, he didn't have much patience for it. My sister ended up teaching me (thanks Steph!) but I remember it not being until around 2nd grade I think. The bike I learned on was not very impressive. It was a little red huffy with Batman stickers that I don't think I personally put on. Huffys weren't exactly the talk of the town when I was growing up, and I was quickly outgrowing the bike. That year was one of the few times a video game didn't top my Christmas list; I wanted a new bike.

I remember that morning. Being the youngest child, my job was "Santa." This didn't mean I had to give people gifts while they slept, but rather that I had the job of passing out everyone's gifts to them. I'm blessed with a great family. My parents didn't do too much on birthdays, but they really went all out on Christmas. With six people in the house and a set of higher ups that loved the holiday, the space under the tree was overflowing. I had to sort through every gift one by one and pass them out to the people, who added them to their pile. Once the gifts were passed out, we all started our flurry of opening. Often times things would get lost in the shuffle of joy, and I was guilty too. I blitzed through the boxes of clothes, ravaged through cards, etc. I wanted that bike. When I got to the end of the gifts, they were all nice, but there was no bike.

I didn't know what to feel. Why didn't I get the bike? Why couldn't these gifts have been conglomerated into the bike? What the heck, Mom and Dad? This was ridiculous. There was no excuse. I think I was so flabbergasted I didn't know what to think. My Dad had the audacity to tell me to pass out gifts when he knew I wouldn't get what I wanted. What a jerk.

"Andy, could you go turn off the coffee maker?"

Oh geez, now he wants me to turn off the coffee maker. Its not enough that I spent all morning slaving away passing out happiness to others, now I had to run errands for him. Nice Christmas. My Dad barely drank coffee anyway, why did he turn on the maker now, and why couldn't he do it himself? This was the worst Christmas ever. Begrudgingly, I got up and walked towards the kitchen, past the couch my Dad sat on.

There it was. It was a Swish Shimano, if I remember correctly. It had six speeds, and felt like a dream. My Dad somehow had sneaked it behind the couch; maybe it had been there the whole time, maybe it hadn't. I don't know. I reveled in the moment; my parents hadn't abandoned me to despair. I didn't have to ride the junky huffy through the streets anymore. I could ride my bike to school with pride. Then I realized what I had to do. I had to turn off the coffee maker for my Dad. My Dad came through for me, so I had to come through for him. When I arrived though, I found the coffee maker had never been turned on in the first place.

"Dad, the coffee maker isn't on."

With a face I'll remember the rest of my life, my Dad seemed to both smirk and sigh at my total ignorance at the same time.

"Yes, I know son."