The Western Flyer

Every time I passed the Western Auto store on the way home from school, I would stop and look in the window. There it was, a shiny sky blue Western Flyer with a red lightning streak on the crossbar. It had balloon tires, fenders, a back fender rack, a kick stand, and best of all a huge suspension spring above the front wheel that would supposedly smooth out all the ruts in the road. Without doubt it was the most beautiful bicycle in the whole universe. I could see myself pedaling like the wind down the street and jumping curbs with abandon with the rest of my friends.

But things had not gone well with my parent’s jobs that year. Mom worked in Chinese owned
department store and made just a little over minimum wage. Dad’s job with a caterer had been slow and he had been taking fill in jobs in local restaurants as he could find them. So I just knew in my heart that I and that Western Flyer would never be together on the streets of Pasadena.

Christmas morning I woke up early. Mom had told me the night before not to come out of my room until she called. I could hear rustling and the front door opening and closing. The suspense was excruciating.
Finally Mom called and I rushed into the living room and there was the Western Flyer with a huge red ribbon tied on the handle bars. I thought my heart would jump out of my chest as I hugged my mom and climbed onto the saddle.

There have been many Christmases since then but never one so fondly remembered. Many years passed before I came to understand what it took for my parents to give me that bicycle.