February 10 2014

Writing attempt: Inspired by the Memoir I'm Reading

 

Big Bird was everything. Mom was everything. Dad was everything. I was 4.

 

I remember nothing except the replay. My father had borrowed the neighbor’s video recorder in order to archive his first child’s first trike ride. I don’t remember how they presented it to me (was it my birthday? Was it summer?) but I do know that the arrival of the yellow plastic trike with my beloved Big Bird at the helm was akin to being personally visited by the sun, leaving the rest of the world in the shadow of the moon.

The video went as such: I, deep cut bangs, ruffle collar polo and no shoes, put my tiny sausage feet on the pedals and freeze. My hands grip tightly around the handlebars in what seems to be frustration. I look to the camera (my father) at the top of the driveway filming me in profile and furrow my brow. The expression on my face will be repeated throughout my life.

TL;DW (too long; didn’t write) I beckoned the camera over with my eyes. The camera moves closer, my need for help broadcasted through my root-beer colored eyes. My mother appears behind me and instructs me to push. My little thigh muscles tense as she places her right foot on the back of the bike and pushes me into a start. I ride for a few feet then come to the tiny hill of the neighbor’s driveway. Here I stop and roll back. Here I put my feet on the ground in defeat and look back to the camera, using my eye plea. Here my mother pushes again and gets me over the hump. Here I make it more than three feet and as I make it over the third neighbors drive I look back to the camera for approval. The camera cheers me on. My mother follows closely and employs her foot tenderly enough that I do not notice its help.

Thinking now about this emotional transaction, I realize that my 4 year old mind would give anything for my father, the camera, to record every accomplishment and be proud. Thinking about it now, I realize that I knew the help my mother was giving and wanted even more so for her to just look at me when I was struggling and push. Looking back now and watching my root-beer colored eyes foam at their mouth for the father cameras approval, I see that if put in this same situation today, I’d be enraged by his opinion and frustrated if she finally, honestly tried to push me forward towards the goal I had set for myself.

Looking back, I realize, we all have barely changed.

 

     

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This was better in my head. Still like it though. Felt like giving up tonight. Glad I didn't

-Classy Biped