Guy Smalley illustration • smmalleyart.com
In February 1962, a few days before my 10th birthday, my daddy came to me with a twinkle in his eyes and a spring in his step and said, “Linda Sue, your 10th birthday is a special birthday because it marks the end of your first decade in this world and the beginning of your second one. What would you like as a present for your special birthday?”
I had never had a special birthday before. On all of my prior birthdays, I had awakened in the morning to find a present waiting for me on the kitchen table. Sometimes I got paper dolls. Sometimes I got a board game. Sometimes I got a book, which was my favorite present because I loved to read. I had never before been asked what I actually wanted, but I was ready. I knew exactly what to ask for. Without hesitating, I squealed, “A bicycle! I want a bicycle for my special birthday!”
Few kids in my neighborhood had bicycles, but those who did made good use of them. Boys would put baskets on the front of their bikes and get jobs delivering the daily newspaper. Some kids used their bicycle baskets to carry home groceries for people who could not make it to the store themselves. A bicycle could get me wherever I needed to go in far less time than walking.
My daddy, however, did not share my enthusiasm for the bicycle. His eyes ceased to twinkle and took on a worried expression when he heard my request. “I’ll have to think on that,” he responded. I knew what that meant: I was not going to get that bicycle. Thanks a lot, Daddy!
The next day, after supper, Daddy took me aside and said, “Linda Sue, I stopped by the Roses Five and Dime Store on my way home today, and the cheapest bicycle I could find there costs $15.95, and that was a scratch and dent. There’s no way that I can get that much money together before your birthday. But don’t despair! I have a plan! If you are willing to wait for six months, I will put aside $2.50 every month, and by the time August gets here, I will be able to buy you that bicycle. Can you wait six months, Linda Sue?”
“Yes!” I gleefully shouted. “I can wait a year if I have to!”
The time between February and August passed slowly. When my anxiety got the best of me at night, I would count bicycles instead of sheep. I started marking off days on my calendar. I knew that my new bicycle would be the envy of all the kids in my neighborhood, and that made the wait worthwhile.
Since my baby sister, Evelyn, would be celebrating her seventh birthday in August, Daddy and Momma decided we could have a dual birthday. There were two cakes; chocolate for me and vanilla for Evelyn. There was a gallon of chocolate ice cream. Best of all, we each got our very own ice cold bottle of Lotta Cola, the first 16 ounce cola drink to be sold in Wise County, Virginia.
Evelyn opened her present first: Barbie paper dolls! She was ecstatic! She loved Barbie, who at that time sported a long blond pony tail and did not have an occupation.
After that, Daddy excused himself to go see a neighbor. Five minutes later, he came back through the front door, escorting a hot pink, 26-inch girl’s bicycle! It had a silver seat, a white wire basket and a horn! I danced around the room in excitement, singing, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
It was the best birthday present ever! Until I noticed my baby sister, Evelyn, standing by my new bicycle, weeping softly as she ran her little hand across its back fender.
If she had been sobbing loudly or throwing a fit, I would have had no sympathy for her. After all, those are things that a spoiled child does. Evelyn, however, did neither of those things; just continued to stroke that hot pink fender while silent tears threaded their way down her cheeks.
Something inside me melted. I got a tissue and wiped her eyes. “You know what, Evelyn?” I said gently, “I do a lot of homework, and I can’t ride a bicycle when I’m doing homework. And I hear tell that bicycles rust if you don’t ride them enough. So do you mind if we share that bicycle, and you can ride it when I can’t?”
“Oh, Sissy, YES!” she cried as she threw her arms around my waist, “You are the best sissy in the whole wide world!”
As I returned her hug, I looked at my daddy standing behind her, and he winked at me. I knew that wink meant that he was proud of what I had done. And that was the best birthday present ever. Thanks a lot, Daddy.