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Writer's picturesimonmorrell

A Bike, A Son and a Father.


A Bike, A Son and A Father.

To the son, the father said this.

“Here is the bike, now hear the people.”

The people applauded as the father presented the son with a bright red shiny machine.

The son loved the bike, and the father loved to hear the people cheer his good gift. Everyone got what they wanted, everyone.

The son rode that bike this way up the street, this way down the street, this way and that way, all the while looking to the window of the big house, hoping the father watched. The father did not. As soon as the people had stopped cheering, the father had deaf ears. Still the son kept riding. This way, that way, any way he could.

Sometimes he rode so fast and so far away that he forgot his chores, his jobs. It is what sons did. Not right, but not exactly wrong.

The son arrived home from school, aching for the bike. It had been all he could think about all day. But the bike? The bike had gone. And so, the hope had too.

The son knew he had forgotten his chores and with it, he knew came the wrath. The father’s wrath.

“Forgot the coals, did you?”

And the son nodded.

“Forgot the fireplace, did you?”

Again, the son nodded.

“Then forget your bike. Instead of buying you this fine gift, I should have let you drown at birth.”

And the son nodded. Harsh he thought. A drowning for lack of coals, but what’s the point of arguing? He didn’t have any more bikes the father could take and so a lashing might replace the theft.

He nodded his agreement as he made his way up to his room. He would stay in that room for many days and weeks. First, he sat in his bed and wept for his bike. Then he remembered the time he had a puncture and walked the bike home. Then he remembered the time he carried the bike over streams.

He knew then he loved his bike, but he didn’t really need it. Kind of like the father really.

The day came when the door opened, and his father proudly produced the bike.

“You are forgiven son,” he boasted. “Here is your bike back.”

The son took a long look at both the bike and the father. Then he booted them both with his strong boots and said, “I’m good thanks.”

And he ran and he ran, and he ran.

“Drown me at birth,” he laughed. “You couldn’t even catch me to do so.”

 

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