My dad got me a bicycle. It was a real piece of garbage. He might have actually gotten it out of the garbage. But he was a master at the fix up. He knew how to take garbage and make something really nice from it. Junk was like hidden treasure to my dad.
We've all seen that show on PBS, the one where people bring in their old things hoping to strike it rich on the fact that what they have is worth something. Most don't even know what they have.
My parents were 'garage sellers'. Actually, that's only accurate if you're from the south and understand the term. The would go "garage selling". Wake up at 6 am and be out the door on the weekend. Just to go looking through other peoples junk. They'd spend the day doing that. My dad was EBAY before EBAY was EBAY.
That's probably where he got the bike.
He took the entire thing apart. Stripped it all. He took tape and meticulously wrapped certain sections of the frame. Being ever so careful to ensure that all the tape was exactly where it needed to be. And then he painted to open areas. Once that paint had dried he covered it with tape and painted the remaining areas with a different color.
He cleaned up everything. Added grease to the chain. Put it all back together.
What it turned out to be was a candy cane looking silver and red bad ass bike. I was sure my friends would be jealous. I should have just been happy with the original. And it shouldn't matter to me what my friends thought. I was only 5 or 6 years old.
Couple of years later Huffy was the bike of the day. Wide handle bars, banana seat, the thing was made to do wheelies forever. Jump in mud puddles. Tear to pieces. He didn't even bother fixing that one up. It came as a piece of junk, it died a piece of junk. It's still my favorite. I put a lot of miles on that bike.
I had a Murray 10 speed bicycle at one point. It was brand new. I got to pick it out myself at Sears. I was so excited. My first real bike. I got it home. My friends saw me riding it. They hated it. Then I hated it. I should have gotten something like all my friends - a trick bike or BMX style. I thought I was growing up. I thought I needed something I could get exercise with. I was stupid. I hated the bike and I never rode it. So the days of my dad getting me a bike were over. I had to buy my own the next time.
Half the battle is being able to be okay with just about anything.
I should have been content with the Huffy. I was still riding it. It still worked. I still jumped and played and rode with my friends. I wasn't content. I wanted something like the older kids had. I wanted to be with the 'in' crowd in the new school I was about to attend. Instead all I did was waste my parents money.
The other half is knowing, like my dad, how and when to fix up the junk you have - so that you are okay with anything.
My dad could spot the hidden treasures in other peoples junk.
He spent half his life doing part time touch ups to cars, vans, motorcycles, and anything else he could sell for a little more money than he bought it or found it for.
He takes a car and washes it. Sells it. Makes money. Mostly so he can buy more yard equipment.
He's happy with anything but a yard that needs a cut. Ever once in a while you'll find him mowing the neighbors grass. He fixes things that look like junk. That's my dad. Finding hidden treasures in junk. Pocket change.
And it's a good lesson.
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