My Blue Bike It was blue. It intimidated me topoint of tears many times. After succeeding to ride my first bike was magic‚ riding my bike was freedom. My dad thaught me to ride blue bike. My bike was the coolest‚ most special‚ better than anyone else’s bike in the whole world. I loved to look at it‚ riding it was another story entirely. Daddy loved to just do things. My first moments on my beautiful bike were filled with wind through my hair‚ my dad’s hands on my back pushing hard as I’m hurling
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Narrative Paragraph I prepared to the fullest extent. Knee pads‚ helmet‚ elbow pads‚ the whole nine yards. I was ready. As I stepped out of house into the bright sunshine of midday I heard a voice. “You ready buddy?” I heard my uncle call. I nodded in response “Yes sir!” “Well let’s get to it then” he replied. He wheeled the cherry red bicycle from the side of the house into the empty driveway. “Hop on” he said. I did as I was told. I was a nervous wreck as I climbed onto the two wheeled wonder
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at my grandparents house‚ when I learned to ride my first bike. All summer I feel off my bike more times than I could count. Practicing everyday nonstop finally gave confidence to do it. This was exciting time for me‚ for my six year old self. I felt just as excited as a sixteen-year-old on their first day on the road. School that day was super anxious‚ not thinking about anything else but riding in the wind. I could imagine myself speeding through the neighborhood‚ humid‚ dry wind in my hair
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The first time I got arrested It all started one warm summer night in Lynn‚ Massachusetts back in good old 1998. I had just almost passed my sophomore year in high school falling one credit shy. I was going to summer school for fifteen minutes every Friday morning and this is how my day started out. It was like any other Friday going to school to hand in some assignment and going back home to sleep for a few more hours but this day was different. My friend Sean called me up just as I got home
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I had heard talk of a mother’s love for her child before the day I had my own. I’d heard stories of a mother that gives her life to save her child’s. I’d seen that kind love expressed by my own mother everyday. I guess‚ I never thought it to be much different then the love a person feels for any other immediate family member. Boy‚ was I wrong. It’s not that I don’t love my other family unconditionally and entirely‚ but a mother’s love is undoubtably incomparable to any other. October‚ 20‚
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I knew my bicycle was in the old house and that I wanted to get it back. The bicycle had become as much a part of my existence as the clothes I wore to go out. I say to go out‚ because it represents me‚ just like clothes. I nurtured the bicycle like a baby‚ replacing all the worn cables‚ carefully oiling all the necessary parts‚ aligning the brakes. Every now and then I stripped down to basics and reassembled it to ensure it was in original working condition. I even manually replaced all of the
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Looking back on those days when I use to sit inside my house while everyone else was outside playing on their bikes‚ skateboards‚ rollerblading‚ I was so jealous that It wasn’t me on the skateboard or the bike; although there came one day that it was me on the bike. I was helping out my pastor at the church on a Saturday and he decided to let me and the rest of the guys come over to his house when we were through. When we got there the pastor’s son Josh was asking us if we all wanted to go outside
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The day I got my first deer I was 10 years old and It was Sunday at 5:00 AM in the morning. I woke up and went and hopped in the shower then I got done and walked out into my room and put my clothes on but‚ not just any ordinary clothes these clothes were washed in “no scent” which says what it does. it is a company that makes a liquid and that liquid can be sprayed used a laundry detergent or anything. Then I went into the living room where my dad was; and he had already completed these
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When I was 7 years old I got my first dirt bike little did I know this was gonna lead to some pain. When I was 9 years old I was minding my own business riding my dirt bike when I hit a tree stump and flew off into a barbwire fence. I stood up and my arm hurt so bad and I tried to lift it up but it fell straight back down. I had to get home so I had to walk to get to my house. I walked in the house and said “mom there’s something wrong with my arm.” She looked at it and told my dad we would have
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I learned from a young age that life is tough and it’s not a given. Coming to the United States from Gambia in 2005 on a cold winter day this country was nothing like what I had expected. It is assumed by all Gambians that America is the Holy Grail but that is not accurate. From my first day I have had to go through hardships to fit in. My accent was very thick. My teeth were out of place and the kids at school didn’t hesitate to comment on it. I consider these hardships as something that many people
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