My sister’s bike leaned against the outside of our house for weeks.

A broken chain hung loosely waiting for one of the grown-ups to finally have time to fix it.

She had not as yet mastered the art of riding. And I was considered to little to begin lessons.

Everyday I would hoist myself up on the seat and push the bike away from the house, trying

to balance as I pedaled as fast as I could.

The bike would inevitably fall back towards the wall and my shoulder would hit the house

with a little more force than I desired.

I would right myself and begin the process all over again. Hoping that the bike would fix

itself and I could ride.

Finally, a Saturday came when our Father was home and had the time to fix her chain.

She practiced all morning and mastered the art of bike riding. The whole street rejoiced

and celebrated with numerous bike races up and down the block.

I could taste the energy in the air as all the other kids and my sister rode with abandon. The

day was joyous. I was so excited for her and like all little sisters I wanted to join in. I wanted

to be just like her, a bike rider.

There came a break in the races, I asked if I could try to ride. My Father said of course, my

sister exclaimed her disbelief of my success. I hoisted myself on to the seat as my Father

held the bike steady. I didn’t have the house to hold me up if I fell. I started pedaling,

with the chain on it was much harder.

To my delighted surprise and everyone else, I rode off. I didn’t last long a few houses down

the block I fell. But I knew that all my work on the side of the house using the wall as my

balancing guide had paid off.

I was a bike rider, too.