First Bicycle

I kept informing my parents: "I'm the only ten year old that doesn't have a bicycle," reminding them: "All I want for Christmas is a bicycle." which only brought the response: "Bicycles cost a lot and we really can't afford one, sorry."  So, I reconciled myself that this was the case and probably pouted a lot although I surely understood the financial situation following The Great Depression.  Christmas was on the way.  Father brought home a fresh pine tree that touched the 12' ceiling of our living room.  He strung the lights, first making sure every colored bulb was tightly screwed in and in working condition.  Then he draped the red, then the green garlands, added the collection of glittery ornaments and lastly carefully placed each strand of silver tinsle.  The wrapped packages would not appear until the night before Christmas after my four year old baby sister and me were both fast asleep.
         
This Christmas morning I woke late because the only present I wanted was a bicycle and knew it wouldn't be under the tree.  After father urged me to come into the living room, I walked in not even looking towards the tree.  After all, what could possibly be there to interest me.  As I sat on the sofa mother urged:  "Jean you haven't even looked at your Christmas present."  I finally looked over and saw, to my great surprise, a bright red Schwin bicycle.  Exactly what I wanted.  A boys style bicycle that I had specifically ordered so that I could get going really fast then swing my leg over and ride 'side-saddle' for a few daring minutes.  This was my happiest Christmas of my childhood.  Now I could actually travel out of Pomona all on my own.  Of course, that was not in father's bicycle rules, but as long as I got back home before dark who would know how far I had traveled.  I'll tell you who.
         
The day after Christmas I left right after breakfast and followed road signs to La Puente which sounded very exotic indeed.  Just as I crossed Pomona City Limits father pulled up behind me in that old Hudson. "Where do you think you're going young lady?"  "Back to the house I guess."  "You got that right," was his stern reply. As I climbed into the back seat, father tied my new bicycle onto the car trunk.  Once home he chained the bicycle to the front porch post and there it remained for one month.  Lesson learned?  Not really.  It took a couple more excursions before being apprehended again and my bicycle was sold.  End of story.