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My Father's bicycle
My Father's bicycle
I remember since I was a little kid, all the bicycles that where all over the house, sometimes my mother got mad, sometimes my sister or I did, but it wasn’t only my father’s fault, my brother also liked them since he was a little kid. They were everywhere, on the dining room, living room, or the hall, even on my parent’s room. Every Sunday my family and I went to see my father to his competitions, we always had a great time. As time passed by, and as I grew up, his adoration, which is the only word I found for this, grew too. He goes to work at 9 am, so the only time he has to ride his bike is at 6 am, so he wakes up at 5 am, and starts his little journey. Since I recall he hasn’t missed not even one day from his little journeys, not even winters, rainy days, or very scalding days. I never really understand the passion for something, until I realized what my father had for this sport. But he doesn’t look at it just like a sport, but a way of living, he takes so much care for himself that it gets you thinking. He follows a strict diet, and sometimes my sister and I need to “follow” it too, because like every other mother would say, my house is not a restaurant, so we just have to try and habituate. My sister and I tried the bike team in which my little brother was, but it wasn’t our sport, at least not one I would get to adore. But on the other hand my little brother did, he got to adore, and share the same passion for this. He got to the point to see this sport the way my father looked at it, it’s not only a sport, but a way of living. Today they are not together, my little brother is pursuing his dream, a dream my father and him share, which is to do it professionally. I never really thought about this, but right now it makes me thrill, thinking of why he woke up so early and why Sundays were his favorite days, now I understand why sometimes he was so tired to play, he was making what made him happy, and giving us a good example of how a person should be.
