Hina+Ishaque

<> __Growing Up A Little Too Fast __ “Come on Dad! Hurry up!” I yelled to my father, who was fumbling around in the garage for his screwdriver. Frustrated and impatient, I stomped over to him with my hands on my hips and inquired, “What is taking so long?” Not answering me right away, my father continued searching. Finally noticing my presence he answered,  “This darn screwdriver is very sneaky, if only I could remember where I left it…” And with that he resumed searching and this time I helped. I knew for a fact that my father rarely, if ever, used tools so if he looked for it himself I would have to wait a few days before he’d find it.  Positioning myself at the large untouched box in the corner, I began rummaging through what looked like beat-up baby toys. Barbies with scratches, marks and missing limbs was most of the items in there and I suspected that these were my sister and I’s old toys. We adored Barbies, Bratz or any other doll specially designed for girls under the age of seven. Once, we’d had so many Barbie dolls that we were able to line our entire basement with them!  Holding the screwdriver proudly over his head my father proclaimed, “I found it!” He smiled as though he’d just been informed that he was about to win one million dollars.  “Finally,” I muttered under my breath and dragged my glossy green bicycle out of the garage to the driveway. Bringing over a garden chair, my father sat down and began to work removing the training wheels off of my bike.  “Are you sure you want them gone? I mean, if you want you can learn to ride in a year or so,” my Father asked nervously for, he knew that I would have to fall a few times to be able to ride smoothly, and that I didn’t like hurtles in my path to victory.  “Of course,” I replied standing proudly. “Why wouldn’t I?” Well, there was a question I had a million answers for. I didn’t want my training wheels gone so that I wouldn’t have to persevere and work hard to be able to ride without them. I didn’t want my training wheels gone because they were dear to me and I loved the ‘whoosh’ sound they made when I rode on the pavement. I didn’t want my training wheels gone because I didn’t want to get hurt. Lastly, I didn’t want them gone because there would go another part of my childhood and another big step into adulthood. It’s not like I could just put my training wheels back on when I’m older, because once they’re gone, they don’t come back. My training wheels were my blanket that hid me from the monsters in my closet. I didn’t know for sure, nor do I know now, if in fact I was ready to ride a bike without training wheels at that time, but I do know that I went through with it, but for all of the wrong reasons.  Nodding, my father unscrewed the first bolt and I turned away. I knew why I was doing this; I wanted to be just like my sister. Wanting to be smart like her, pretty like her, or just friendly and caring like her I was willing to do anything. She looked exactly like the girl I wanted to be and to do so I needed to get rid of my training wheels. That’s because she did the same just a few weeks ago. However, she was older, two years older in fact and I didn’t have to get rid of them just yet. I had some time. I look back now and think how much I rushed growing up just so I could be like my sister.  That’s when I heard the first thunderous crack of one of the training wheels finally fall off of my bike and hit the ground. //It’s too late to back out now,// I thought and watched intently as the next one fell off as well.  “Well there you go honey,” my Father said as he pointed to my bike, now completely free of training wheels.  “Wow,” was all I could utter. It looked so unbelievably different without the training wheels and I couldn’t believe that that was how it was going to look from here on out. I suddenly wanted the training wheels on again but kept my cool, not wanting to show how scared I truly was.  My sister Sarah, who was swinging on our swing set, walked over when she saw what was going on. “You got rid of your training wheels already?” she asked in shock.  “Yeah, but it’s cool ‘cause I know I can ride my bike without them,” I answered, lying through my teeth. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Definitely, I know you can do it, but do you want me to help?” she asked in a mothering tone. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes,” I practically shouted, so grateful that I had such a caring sister. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Well then let’s get started,” she responded, motioning for me to sit down. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I walked over to the bike and in a swift movement sat down and positioned my feet on the pedals knowing if I was too slow, I’d scare myself out of it. Sarah held on to the back of the bike so that I wouldn’t fall over. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Okay, so just start riding your bike like you have your training wheels on,” she started. “Don’t get scared and no matter what, don’t let go of the handlebars.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Slowly at first I began pedaling, with my sister holding on of course, then faster and faster. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “STOP!” she hollered loud enough for the entire state of New Jersey to hear. “Please don’t go that fast. I’m holding on to you, so go at a walking pace.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I nodded, guilt washing over me for putting her in danger. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “So start pedaling again, just slower this time.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Once again I pedaled, however this time I was mindful of the fact that there was a person holding on to me. Soon I began to get better and better to the extent of pedaling about five feet without my sister. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You can do it!” she exclaimed when I was finally able to ride around the driveway without falling. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Just like you,” I answered her with a smile. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yeah, just like me,” she whispered as if suddenly deep in thought. She spoke again two minutes later. “Did you want to learn how to ride a bike only because I could?” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Um…yes,” I whispered, lowering my eyes to the ground. I could feel heat creeping up to my cheeks. I didn’t want her to know my true intentions for learning how to ride a bike. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Walking over, I was surprised when she asked me to get off of my bike and sit down on the pavement. Confused, I sat cross-legged waiting for her to speak again. However, she didn’t speak, she just pointed to a band-aid covering a large scab on her left knee. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You see this band-aid? Do you know what that means?” she inquired. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “It means you got hurt,” I replied, puzzled at why she was asking me this. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes, but I got it when I fell off of the swings the other day. Since, you want to be just like me how about you get yourself one of these?” she asked pointing to her left knee. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “But I don’t want a scab,” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Of course you wouldn’t. Who in the right mind would want a scab? But you see, the purpose of that was to show you that just because I’m able to do or have something doesn’t mean you need to have it too. You see its things like this scab that make us different. That makes us special. You shouldn’t always do what I do just because I do it. Go on ahead and do your own things and be your own person. Always remember that no matter what do what you want, not what others are doing unless what you are doing is wrong.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Her last sentence confused me but when I look back at that day now I can’t remember another time when I wanted to be just like her. That day she taught me to be yourself and not follow what everyone else is doing. I should be my own person and after that day that is what I became. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Now tell me truthfully, do you want your training wheels back?” she asked looking me stern fully in the eye. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I nodded, hoping she would laugh at me. She didn’t. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Well then let’s get your training wheels back on that bike of yours!” she exclaimed. “And remember, I’m not perfect and just because I do something doesn’t mean you should.” <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I nodded and then turned back to my bike. Sarah grabbed the screwdriver and started twisting the training wheel back on my bike. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> I stood, dumfounded. “You know how to use a screwdriver? I want to learn how to too!” I said. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Being young then, with a short attention span and terrible listening skills I didn’t understand why after I asked that that she laughed. However I understand now and have never ever tried to be as perfect as her but only as perfect as I can manage. __ Author’s Note __ Growing up was a tough time for me. There was so much going on in my life, and it was getting hard to handle. In the midst of finding out who I am, I made the stupid decision of trying to be an exact replica of my perfect, older sister Sarah. She was also in fact my inspiration for this piece. Although it is a story about the time I learned how to ride a bike, what I really learned was that I should be my own person. My sister taught me that. Ever since, I tried my hardest to do what only I wanted and be my own person, not a copy of someone else. However, at that time I felt as though I should similar to Sarah. She was in fact smart, pretty, caring, kind, respectful and any other excellent trait a person could have. Why wouldn’t I want to be just like her? That sort of yearning for perfection was what I wanted my readers to feel when they read my piece. I wanted them to see how just how much I was willing to do to make everyone else proud. I was prepared to completely forget who I am, just for others. You’d think being eighteen months younger wouldn’t make you a whole lot dumber, but it turned out that it does. That is because my sister, although not much older, knew and taught me a valuable lesson about being myself that I still value and live by each passing day.