letter14

Dear Family and Friends,

I watched as he pedaled down the bumpy road on a trike that was much to
small for even his little legs, his little eyes so full of determination and
vigor . . . he pedaled like a man on a mission, with his thoughts revolving
around his goal. His trike wavered and he struggled to stay aboard, the
rusted training wheels bent and discombobulated in every odd sort of angle;
it was tough for his little mind to decide which was worse: the rutted
Bulgarian road or the trike that looked like it had spanned his family for
generations. The trike tipped from the right to the left with each labored
pedal, as if it were a confused carnival ride, and it didn't seem to bother
him as he struggled to maintain his balance. Occasionally, he would shout,
"Zdravey!" (Hello) to a familiar face, as he continued to tip and twirl past
goats, sheep, piles of hay, bigger boys riding bikes that he could only
dream of one day riding, and various small creatures, slamming headfirst
into the occasional parked car. The boy made it halfway down the street
before he abandoned his mission and dumped his trike behind one of those
darned cars. He then paused, with a devilish grin, to play in a puddle of
water and mud on the side of the road as only a boy could, before he walked
home, swinging his arms, with a jubilant bounce in his step, his trike and
his mission long forgotten . . . he was the boy on the uneven trike . . .

Love Always,
Chantel