Daddy's Bicycle

 My Daddy grew up on a farm and he was an only child until age 13.  He was only allowed to go to school in the harshest winter months when he wasn't needed in the fields.  My Daddy was made to plow acres and acres not able to reach the plow handles without standing on his tiptoes.  His raising was hard and few people know about his childhood, not even the nearest neighbor or relative.  My Daddy's childhood was horrible and I cringe when I think about it, but I assure you good came from it because he loved us the way he wanted to be loved and his sad childhood is the reason we had such a wonderful childhood.


THE BICYCLE...

My Daddy, a child who worked harder than any child should work.  Plowing fields on his tiptoes to reach the handles of the plow and going to school only a few weeks a year because he was needed on the farm.  Daddy never received an allowance nor was he ever rewarded for the work usually done by grown men.  He didn't even get a "good job, son."  He'd work in the fields and the sawmill 'til his little hands would bleed and blisters would well on his hands and feet.
How Daddy found time to help the neighboring farmers, I will never know, but he did and did so with a mission. Unlike his parents, the other farmers were grateful for his help and would pay him as much as they thought appropriate for a little boy's work.  He saved that money and finally had enough to buy the one thing he wanted...a used bicycle.  Daddy paid for that used bicycle and proudly rode it home.  His mother, my grandmother, was livid to find out Daddy had money and more so that he had not given it to her.  She made my Daddy return the bicycle and give the money to her.

My Daddy shared this story with us while we were growing up as well as and many others like it.  Hard stories for children to process who had never known anything but unconditional love. But we learned from his pain, which he carried with him daily.  Daddy was never able to put the pain of his childhood to rest; it haunted him with every breath.  Daddy would often cry when he talked to us about his life on the farm and he knew we didn't view him weak because he cried. Daddy had our driveway paved shortly after Santa gave us our first bicycles.  Not only did he want us to have the bikes, he shared with Moma and Granny Sexton that we should have a good place to ride our bicycles and gravel wasn't what he thought ideal for bicycle riding.  He did something that was not affordable for the family at that time, but unlike his parents, money was never an issue.
This Christmas, like all, I think about my Daddy's bicycle.  I'm reminded that he ran away from home at age 14 and illegally joined the Navy only to be found by Grandpa who told the Navy there was a family hardship and he needed to come home.  Back home, he worked the fields sunup to sundown.  He ran away a short time later and joined the Navy again, this time no one tried to force him to return to the farm.
I'm also mindful of the car accident my Daddy was in long before I was born.  He was married to Moma at the time.  Daddy received a small settlement from the insurance company and his mother demanded him to give her and Grandpa half of the money even though the accident had no ties to them.  Daddy stood firm and did not give in to her demands.
My Grandpa was a good man, but he was weak where Grandma was concerned.  My Grandpa became an alcoholic and when he went 'missing' it was Moma or Daddy who got the call from Grandma to look for Grandpa...not the other son who came along when Daddy was 13, the son who was never FORCED to do farm work, the son who got to further his education.  I have memories of being shuttled into the car while Moma drove the streets of Sparta looking for Grandpa.  One day, when he was drunk, he had a taxicab bring him to our house.  I was small, but I remember that day.  He sat in our living room crying, sharing his sadness about the way they had raised Daddy.  He told my mother that he was going to right things only to die a few days later without the opportunity to right his wrongs and make peace with Daddy.  Daddy was on the road at the time, I so wish he had been home that day.
Christmas and Bicycles is a constant reminder of my Daddy's unconditional for his family...a love he never felt from his parents.

By: Sarah Page Higgins