I remember the day I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels
The way the breezy scent of the sea insisted on being the first the thing you smell
And how the damp, heavy dirt was a close second.
I remember the soggy cereal I had eaten just minutes before
Like strawberry-flavored worms wriggling down my throat.
The bike's innocent touch scared me to death,
And when it was time to get out that rusty, cob-webbed piece of metal, I froze, a deer in the headlights.
I remember the way my brother insisted upon showing off his biking skills,
How he rode in circles so closely around me that he almost knocked me over.
Each time I recall this memory, I get the same feeling of fear and triumph I got when I finally did it on my own.
To this day, whenever I see that rusty, old bike, I smile.
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