Jan. 18, 2008 - 20:21 MST

MINOR TRANSPORT

From my earliest memory "car" was a grown up word, and as far as that goes still is.

But there was an added word that galled my shanks that was tied to mine "Kiddie". Oh I love it to the max, all but the name.

A simple thing of wood. Three wheels, a seat. The front wheel went through the seat plate, had a "tee" handle on top enabling the driver to steer. Pedals blocks of wood on "s" shaped metal.

I guess they were not designed to last much longer that it took a tyke to learn to walk. No fancy metal parts or oil pots, guess the lubrication was probably wax.

It served me well, my wooden cruiser. Oh the adventures I had, the escapes down the sidewalk from home laughing like a maniac as my feet spun.

It lasted until one day I had a minor accident which to me was a tragedy. Tipped over and one wheel split in half. Out of business, inconsolable, moped around a few days -- not to be talked to.

I was yet too young to understand the flow of the year and such, but it just didn't seem the folks took it seriously enough that my chariot was gone.

I got up from bed one Sunday morning to the smell of things I like to eat and a joyous "Happy Birthday" from Mom and Dad. That had to be gone over again for me - birthdays came once a year and were to be happily celebrated.

Dad said, "Come see what you got for your birthday." A newby for this young sprat, I began to understand things were given on birthdays.

There in all its glory in the front room, red paint, shiny metal, rubber tires was a real store bought TRICYCLE with fancy designs on the steel tubing.

I tried to wear it out that day but failed miserably. It lasted me until I got a two wheeled bicycle. I loved my wheels and still did even when I got my first car.

I have come a long way from MINOR TRANSPORT . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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