In the late 1960's, Paul and I both needed bicycles to get around in our lives. It was a bigger need back then -- today, most families have more than one car -- but for our family, there was only the one car, and my father took it to work every day. Without a bike, we couldn't do much.
Paul went to a bicycle store and brought home a brochure showing his perfect bike: a yellow 10-speed Schwinn Continental. It was his dream, but the price was steep: $115 -- a huge amount for a 10-year old. The same purchase today (in 2024) would be nearly $1000. But he had his heart set on it, and he started saving every dime. Despite no encouragement or help at all, he somehow managed to save it up and went back to the store to buy it.
I never saw a person more proud of something he had worked so hard to earn. He rode it for years, until he finally got a car and the bike was less useful. But, he was so proud of that bike, and took such good care of it.
After Paul died, my younger brother got the bike -- and years later, I saw it in his basement. My parents wouldn't have seen any value in keeping it.
Seeing it reminded me of how very proud I was of his achievement, and how much it meant to him. They went everywhere together, and when he was coming home from work at night in the summer, I could hear the 'tick tick tick' of the gears while he was coasting down Loomis Street, getting ready to park the bike in our garage.
The bike looked lonely. I'm not sure what came of it since then, but it meant so much in such a short life.
Paul went to a bicycle store and brought home a brochure showing his perfect bike: a yellow 10-speed Schwinn Continental. It was his dream, but the price was steep: $115 -- a huge amount for a 10-year old. The same purchase today (in 2024) would be nearly $1000. But he had his heart set on it, and he started saving every dime. Despite no encouragement or help at all, he somehow managed to save it up and went back to the store to buy it.
I never saw a person more proud of something he had worked so hard to earn. He rode it for years, until he finally got a car and the bike was less useful. But, he was so proud of that bike, and took such good care of it.
After Paul died, my younger brother got the bike -- and years later, I saw it in his basement. My parents wouldn't have seen any value in keeping it.
Seeing it reminded me of how very proud I was of his achievement, and how much it meant to him. They went everywhere together, and when he was coming home from work at night in the summer, I could hear the 'tick tick tick' of the gears while he was coasting down Loomis Street, getting ready to park the bike in our garage.
The bike looked lonely. I'm not sure what came of it since then, but it meant so much in such a short life.
Kathy Pinna 
Daniel Pinna 
