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I was five years old and it was a warm and sunny summer afternoon in Nebraska. My younger sister Elaina played with hot wheels on the sidewalk.
I heard a screech that forced my eyes up to see my brother Jesse had come to a stop at the end of the block and was now turning back around again on his bicycle. For minutes on end I watched him.
His bike was larger than mine, less pink even with no sign of the training wheels that were on my own. I want to be like him, I thought. I want to ride over gaps and cracks in the pavement. I want my training wheels off.
I heard the front door swing open and shut and footsteps near. My dad appeared next to me. He smiled at me with clouds of dark facial hair curving up and around his mouth. “What are you doing?” He asked in a soft tone.
“I don’t want training wheels anymore.” I finally stated eagerly. After saying this I heard my brother come to a stop in front of the house .
“You can let go.” I told my dad quietly, gripping the handlebars. He nodded and I felt his hands pull away while I gracefully took off. Down the sidewalk I pedaled. So smoothly and so greatly. I sped down the sidewalk and caught up to my brother Jesse who had the funniest look on his face.
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