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  • I learned to ride a bicycle on a lumpy fat wheeled bike my dad bought from our neighbor; the bike was painted a flat chalky white, and had a multitude of dents. I wonder how many kids learned to ride off of this same old bike and what had been its original color? Dad put training wheels on it and I rode it like this for some time, until it was time to graduate to two wheels. This was a big deal, and I remember the fear as dad ran alongside me, holding onto the bike, sensing the right time of release.
    I was flying.
    I careened down the street, balancing on those two fat tires.
    I crashed.
    And we did it all over again.
    Thanks dad.
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