old bicycle

Every four o’clock in the morning, before Papa left to work, he never forgot to give me a hug. This loving gesture would always stir my heart.

As he mount his old rusty bicycle, I would run outside to say goodbye. He would just smile. As he pedaled away, I would follow his silhouette down the road until he disappeared in a cloud of dust.

His old mountain bike was our first bonding together.

I remember then, back in grade school, he bought a bike for me and my siblings.

Tags: creative nonfiction, hug, memoir, old bicycle, papa, pedal, Prose