My first Bicycle, inspired by a free write but this is a true story

image source
When I was a pre-teen, I got my first bicycle.
It was red, single gear, balloon tires, wide handlebars, and the dreaded Top Tube (read ball buster bar).
We lived in the country, on a dirt road that wouldn't be paved for 15 yrs, so the balloon tires were an absolute necessity. And even that was difficult getting through deep drifts of dry sand.

I am also the youngest of ten children, hence I had an enormous amount of nephews and nieces, three older and many of the rest about the same age.
Holidays were often chaotic, but for me they were the only times I had "playmates". Our house was in the woods, the nearest humans were about a mile away, but they were older black folk, and at that time (mid 60's) blacks and whites of my age simply didn't 'hang out' together.

You'll notice in this photo of my parents, the front stoop of our house, very poor soil meant it was a struggle to get grass to grow.
Daddy later had cement walk ways poured in three legs; one coming straight from the front door (through where the photographer is standing), one to the right (both of those to the driveway) and the third to the left, over to the shady area where we had tables and chairs, even a sandy play area.
Enough of the background.
One of my nephews is a troubled young man, was, still is and will most likely be that way until he passes

^{Gene on the left, me on the right, bikes in the back}
Gene's mom was my half sister Bobbie, who herself was a very troubled lady, eventually dying from complications of Lewy body dementia. Gene may also have that problem, but I sure hope not, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

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So at the time when I got my bike, Gene and his mom lived in a mobile home at the side of our yard, and Gene got a new bike (By this time, I'd had mine a couple of years)
His was similar to the pictured bike, I don't remember what color he got. Both bikes had drag brakes, meaning to slow down or stop, you pedaled in reverse.
Mine was a tool, a means of getting from one place to another quicker than on foot.
His was a POSSESSION, to be admired, washed and even polished.
He would only ride it up and down our sidewalks, because he didn't want to "get it dirty".

^{Gene on the left, Daddy and me on the right}
There came a day when Gene wanted to borrow MY  bike, because he didn't want to get HIS  bike dirty, and I flatly refused.
"You've got a bike, ride it" I told him.
He went whining to my sister, who came asking me why I wouldn't let him use my bike, I said

"He has one, let him ride it"

"But he just WASHED His" she said.
Too bad. I said.
Now I am not normally that petty, but he and I had always had a contentious relationship, in fact as adults I named him my "Public Enemy # 1" he would say very hateful things to me in anger.
I don't remember whatever happened to my bike, with its mud fenders and rusting body (I did NOT wash my bike)
And there you have it, another blast from (my) past, a true story.
Inspired by a post by @wandrnrose7

"My First Bicycle"

^{a true story
by}
Jerry E Smith
©10/09/2021
All images are family property
Or otherwise linked out to source
^{Happy Birthday today, to my Sister Nancy, niece Christie, and
two brothers (nephews) now deceased}