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Two things changed my life:
my mother and a white plastic bike basket. I have thought long and hard
about it and it's true. I would be a different person if my mom hadn't turned a
silly bicycle accessory into a life lesson I carry with me today.
My mother and father were united in their way of raising
children, but it mostly fell to my mother to actually carry it out. Looking
back, I honestly don't know how she did it. Managing the family budget must
have been a very hard task, but she made it look effortless. If we complained
about not having what another kid did, we'd hear something like, “I don't care
what so –and –so got for his birthday, you are not getting a TV in your room a
car for your birthday a lsvish sweet 16 party.” We had to earn our allowance by
doing chores around the house. I can still remember how long it took to polish
the legs of our coffee table. My brothers can no doubt remember hours spent
cleaning the house .Like the two little girls growing up at the White House, we
made our own beds (no one left the house until that was done)and picked up
after ourselves. We had to keep track of our belongings, and if something was
lost, it was not replaced.
It was summer and ,one day ,my mother drove me to the bike shop to get a tire fixed—and there it was in the window, White, shiny, plastic and decorated with flowers ,the basket winked at me and I knew —-I knew—I had to have it.
“It's beautiful,” my mother said when I pointed it out to
her,” What a neat basket.”
I tried to hold off at first, I played it cool for a short
while. But then I guess I couldn't at and it any longer: “Mom, please can I
please, please get it? I'll do extra chores for as long as you say, I'll do
anything, but I need that basket, I love that basket. Please, Mom. Please?”
I was desperate.
“You know,” she said, gently rubbing my back while we both
stared at what I believes was the coolest thing ever,” If you save up you could
buy this yourself.”
“By the time I make
enough it'll be gone!”
“Maybe Roger here could hold it for you,” she smiled at
Roger, the bike guy.
“He can't hold it for that long, Mom .Someone else will buy
it .Please, Mom, Please?”
“There might be another way,” she said.
And so our paying plan unfolded. My mother bought the
beautiful basket and put it safely in some hiding place I couldn't find. Each
week I eagerly counted my growing saving increased by extra work here and there
(washing the car ,helping my mother make dinner, delivering or collecting
things on my bike that already looked naked without the basket in
front).And then ,weeks later ,I counted ,re-counted and jumped for joy. Oh,
happy day! I made it! I finally had the exact amount we'd agreed upon….
Days later the unthinkable happened. A neighborhood girl I'd
played with millions of times appeared with the exact same basket fixed to her
shiny, new bike that already had all the bells and whistles. I rode hard and
fast home to tell my mother about this disaster. This horrible turn of events.
And then came the lesson. I've taken with me through my
life:” Honey, Your basket is extra-special,” Mom said, gently wiping away my
hot tears.” Your basket is special because you paid for it yourself.”
