There was a bike in my family we called the "Little Red Bike". If I saw one like it again, I'd recognize it instantly, but I can't really describe it. It was probably an old Schwinn, with the big wide stylish top tube. It was small and red, with black pinstriping. All my brothers and all my cousins on the south side of Chicago learned to ride on it.

Eventually my family moved out to the suburbs, leaving the cousins behind, but the Little Red Bike came with us.

I remember the day I learned to ride, clear as day. I was up early on the morning of April 26th, 1966. It was chilly but not cold. It must have rained the day before, because the skies were that scrubbed-clean blue that only happens after a rain. I had on pajamas and my quilted robe that I had to pull over my head, but the zipper was too short and it was hard to do and I hated it. I was barefoot and I was 4 years old.

My brothers left for school and I walked them out, and then I saw the Little Red Bike, gleaming there in the dewey sunshine. I picked it up, straddled the seat and wobbled a few times trying to get both feet on the pedals at the same time.

One foot down, half pedal, fall the other way, push with both feet on the ground, try again, get the robe out of the way...over and over again, up and down the side walk, until finally, finally, a full pedal stroke, then another, and then speed and steering and five whole break-your-mother's-back cracks and I was riding. Add my name to the list of cousins who learned to ride on the Little Red Bike!

Overjoyed, I hatched a plan. I rushed in the house to find my mother, finally out of bed, enjoying a Kent cigarette and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

"Mommy! I have a present for your birthday! Come see!"

Reluctantly, she got up and went to the window as I rushed down the stairs and out the front door. Then, making sure she was still looking, I mounted the Little Red Bike, pedaled down to the other end of the sidewalk, looked back and threw my mother a kiss.

And that's how I learned to ride a bike.

Karen