How I discovered my own good fortune in life |
The Tricycle. My parents decided to do their OE when I was less than a year old. In consequence, we ended up living in South Africa for 6 years, hightailing it back home when things got really bad. I had one of those trikes. You know; sturdy plastic little suckers all bright yellow and thick red wheels. One big wheel was in front my chubby little legs felt like they were powerful pistons pumping beside the twin treads at the back It even had knobs that I could pretend to push, and a sticker to tell me what the dials were. But that had kind of worn off. I loved that wee tricycle and played on it almost every day. So often that I left it in the driveway one time and Mum realises she is late, piles me into the car unceremoniously to go somewhere. It was one of those adult trips three year olds are not told about, super important, like grocery shopping or picking up Dad from work. Beeping was suddenly drowned out by an awful crunching sound. Mum thought it was the cat. It wasn’t. My beloved trike was sticking out from under the back wheel of the car. I immediately burst into tears, was so upset - screaming I insisted on accompanying it to the dump, A casual funeral for my prized toy. We got there and unloaded the busted trike from the boot. Immediately, a horde of young black boys came out of the garbage. They had on tatty, faded clothes their pink palms grasped its yellow plastic before I was finished saying goodbye. They were young, but heaps older than me, maybe by as many as eight years. They hooted and cavorted the busted wheel and crushed side flying over the garbage as they took off laughing and shouting. I smiled briefly at their happiness, somewhat pleased to see my special toy in such good hands. My heart twisted when I remembered my earlier tears and I looked at my knees the whole drive home. |