Loose Park / Shaky Knees

Loose Park was five or six blocks from our home at 403 W. 59th Street in Kansas City, Mo. A walking path wound its way around the lagoon, the tennis courts, the swimming pool and eventually to the well tended rose garden with a sparkling fountain at its heart. The park was a calm and charmed refuge from our messy home life.

On one hot summer day, my sisters Dolly and Ruth Louise and I took our first long distance bike ride to Loose Park by ourselves . Dolly and Ruth Louise were the lucky riders of sturdy and brisk bicycles with names like Cockney, and Rattletrap that I surely envied. Being the fourth child and the third girl in our sibling constellation of five , at my age of 7 or 8 , a bicycle had not yet entered my life. The freedom of fluid speed, wind in one’s hair came later, but on that humid morning my mode of transport was an outgrown tricycle. No matter, I felt lucky to be included in my older sisters’ escapade.

As we made our way up the hill, I realized my dilemma . My progress lagged behind my sisters, my knees were banging against the handlebars, and my energy was flagging. I was known as a crybaby, ( and in all honesty I cried the whole way ) and a weakling ( which I was ) , but on that day my ambition ( I had to! ) to keep up eclipsed my ó frustration. I can’t remember the arrival at the park, but it must have been with a feeling of relief , knowing the way back was all downhill.

The whole way home , I cried , and my knees were shaky, bruised and red and my body felt wobbly, but pride was intact (ha!) . Perhaps my future of someday crossing long distances on a bicycle had been sealed. Wonders never cease.