Jen

Jen Mandelbaum Essay Assignment #1 I grew up riding my bike down the street. I loved rushing past all the houses and seeing the colorful siding blend together in a vibrant blur. I would wait for my parents to get ahead of me before I began peddling as fast as I could, trying to catch up to them so that I could win the race that existed only in my mind. I was always ready to dawn the bright pink and blue helmet whenever my mom suggested we take a bike ride down our quiet street. It was an ideal neighborhood for a bike ride; hardly any cars ever drove down the street and the old trees outlining the properties created subtle shade that flowed from the neatly trimmed lawns to the warm pavement. I learned to ride a tricycle when I was three and haven’t thought much about the process of learning to ride a bike since. I can’t recall ever having trouble pushing the pedals with my legs or balancing on two wheels when I outgrew the training wheel stage. I suppose that riding a bike represented some of the phases of my childhood; moving from younger adolescence with the confinement of training wheels and brakes that applied when I peddled backwards to near-adulthood, where I rode perfectly balanced on two wheels with multiple gears to pan through. I’ve never really thought about how my bicycle has evolved with me. But while I was racing down the fast track toward adulthood, my brother was miles behind. My younger brother, Jeremy, has never been able to ride a bicycle. My parents bought him a tricycle when he was about the same age as when I first started riding, but his tight leg muscles made it difficult for him to get the motion of pedaling. My parent’s efforts to get Jeremy bike riding were admirable, but for the time being he was destined to be grounded. I’m certain that this reality was hard for my parents to accept at first. They were both athletic, and my mom had told me many times before about riding her bike down to the Point with friends or around the back roads of Greenwich. My parents had decided on our childhood house after riding their bikes and running past it so many times. They told me that they loved it from the moment they saw it and knew that they would someday live here. I imagine it’s hard for any parent to admit that their child can’t do the things they loved to do when they were children. Nevertheless, my parents did try from time to time to get Jeremy on a bicycle. Sometimes my dad would pull Jeremy on my old bicycle while he urged him to get his feet around the pedals. I usually rode around them in circles, flaunting my bike riding skills. Although I knew that it was never Jeremy’s fault that he could not ride a bike, I sometimes had the terrible thought that I was better because I could. My competitive nature often got the best of me. Jeremy had a major surgery last August to loosen and stretch his leg muscles. The goal of the surgery was to make it easier and less painful for him to walk. I doubted the efficacy of the surgery at first. He spent weeks out of school in a hospital bed. The metal bed in the family room made it hard to forget that we were still dealing with the effects of the surgery weeks later. The brother who laughed at nearly every joke I told him was replaced by a somber little boy who woke me up at night with his crying and told us he wished he were dead. My brother, always the optimist, would never say such a thing unless he meant it. My parents convinced me that it would take time for Jeremy to recover from the surgery, so I took their word for it. As the weeks passed, Jeremy slowly grew stronger. We challenged each other to standing competitions, watching the second hand move around the clock as we stood side by side. If they didn’t strengthen his legs much, the competitions certainly boosted his morale. Still, I hadn’t seen him smile in months. Then, a breakthrough. I came home from school one day and Mom told me that Jeremy had exciting news. Mom and Jeremy had just gotten home from a session at Northeast Rehab, where Jeremy had been going to physical therapy for years. With a giant grin on his face he told me he had just ridden a bike. All the years of accepting that he couldn’t ride faded away. We all learn in different ways and hopefully find our strengths and weaknesses along the way. Most children learn how to ride a bicycle when they are six or seven years old with no difficulty. For most people, riding a bike comes naturally. We progress from tricycles to training wheels until we can ride with only two wheels. I’ve begun to think that those things that come easily to people are not necessarily the most impressive. Here was my brother riding a bike for the first time at eleven after years of struggling to pedal. The effort he put into this task continues to amaze me. After his initial ride, it would be months before he rode again. The next summer we customized a bike with training wheels so he wouldn’t have to think about balancing, which has always been difficult for him. I applaud my four year old self that took up bike riding with my parent’s encouragement, but I find my eleven year old brother riding a bike for the first time more impressive.