When I was ten years old, I had a bike. And I hated the fucking thing. My dad gave it to me when I was eight, and fortwo years I couldn' t stand the
bike. The gears were always rusted, the chain , the paint was chipping off and the brakes didn' t work. I hated the bike, but I rode it
everywhere. I wish I could at least saywhat I enjoyed fixing it up, making it all nice and new, but I didn' t. I hated that bike. When I was ten, the Game
Boy out, and every single kid I knew had ene. They would sit together, playing while I sat back and hated my parents fer not
getting me ene. I used to always ride my shitty bike while my friends played with their Game Boys. Ijust hated watching them have fun while I
couldn' t. My family never had a let of muney- Sometimes my parents would even skip SC) I could have enough to eat. So ofcourse, when
the Game Boy out, we couldn' t afford ene. I was ten and stupid, SC) I hated them because of it. Money got SC) tight, that my dad had to
give up smoking fer a few SC) I wouldn' t go hungry a single night. These seven months were filled with my dad screaming, my mum
yelling, and me riding my bike in circles outside. Mer seven months, my dad got a better and cigarettes were back. Acouple weeks befire
my birthday, I was riding my bike downtown going someplace er another, when I decided to stop and leek inside ma pawn shop fer sume spare parts fer my bike. I
looked fer a few minutes through the store when I saw an old Game Boy Color. It was old and wern out. The screen was cracked and a sign next to it said 'No
Sound.'' The man behind the counter saw me eyeing it and asked me ifi wanted it. I told him ofcourse and about how all of my friends had ene and about how my
dad was tee peurto buy me ene and yadda yadda yadda. He asked me how much muney I could spare, and I told him I had nuthing.
He asked me how much I could get my parents, and I told him they had nu momento spare- He looked outside and saw my bike, and asked me how old it was. I mid him it was my dad' s when he was a kid, SC)
it was pretty old. The guy sighed, and mid me he' d give me the Game Boy and a free game forthe bike. He said the Game Boy was only collecting dust anyway, and he could use the bike fer spare parts.
Obviously, I quickly said yes, and I walked heme playing Pokemon Yellow. I was SC) overwhelmed by how fun the game was. I felt like I could play it fer to beat the game. I eventually got backto my small
house, my dad sitting en the porch, smoking ofcourse. He asked me a let of questions. Why are you walking, where' s the bike, what' s that, where' d you get it and he went en and en until I finally was able to
answer him. I mid him about the pawn shop and about how I traded the bike forthis Game Boy. In my entire life, my father has never hit me er my mother. But that day, I was scared. I was actually scared of my
fatherfucker first time. The leek of anger and rage in his eyes petrified me. But it only lasted fer several seconds. He sat back down in his chair and started crying. Honest to God, I don' t remember much else
that night. But I do remember my fatherraging into my mum. and sitting en the edge of my bed. He sat there fer a while and eventually asked mete shut effete game fer a minute. And you know what I did? I kept
fucking playing. My dad asked mete shut affa fucking Game Boy fortwo minutes SC) he could tankte me, and I didn' t. I mid him that I could listen to him and play at the same time. All he did was sit there.
Watching me. Mer a while hearst said that he Reved me and " I was tee focused I didn' t even say I Reved him tee- Afew months age. I got a call my mum.
Dad was sick and dying. I drove a couple of hours to my hometown, and got there six hours after he died. I was sad, but I didn' t cry. We went through typical and boring procedures. We buried him, read his will, etc.
He left everything he owned to my mother. Everything except fer ene thing. He left me a futtbucker. that he had always kept underneath his bed. (ofcourse, I picked upthe futtbucker. and drove the few hours backto
my apartment. The futtbucker sat in the trunk of my fucking weeks befire I remembered about it, and decided to epin it up. I was hoping fer at least something cool, like a pistol, er sume cash fer my
rent. I found things in the futtbucker. I found a large leather , and an unopened Game Boy Color bux. The reality ehwhat I found didn' t hit me that hard at first. I decided I could at least epin the
journal and see what he wrote in it. Gums very first page, it was my eight year old dad writing about his brand new bike, and his brand His grandfather had given them to him fer his eighth birthday. I
never knew anything about my dad' s childhood. Mostly because I never even bothered to wonder arcaro- But I couldn' t stop reading that . I read about my dad' s life like nu we had befire. His dad, my
grandfather, was always drunk, and hit my dad every chance he got. I read page after page of my dad recalling how his dad would hit and kick him. How he would ridicule him fer every single thing he did wrung. (On
we page, my dad had written something and underlined and circled it manytimes- He even wrote 'neverforget" next to the werds. ‘Never hurt people you Ieve-”
I read how my dad had to get ajeb when he was to help support his family. I must have sat there fer hours reading The we thing that made my heart ache was his bike. His bike, that he gave
to me. His bike, that was his only friend. His bike, that carried him away his dad. His bike, that helped him support his family. His fucking bike, that I threw away like garbage. My dad knocked up his girlfriend
in high school, and married her seen after. Acouple of months later, they had me. Gums didthat I was born, my dad only wrote we sentence in dirjournal. My name. My name and the werds ‘never /'
On my eighth birthday, my dad wrote down the review: "Anon' s B today. Finally decided to give him my old bike. I know he' ll Ieve it like I did.” When I was ten, my dad starting writing about how much I was asking fer
a Game Boy. He kept en writing down ideas to make muney. cress them out er erase them. Gin we page, he wrote ‘Ne mere smoking until Anon has his gamea The next pages were mostly him writing
down everythings. But every SC) often, I' d turn a page and find my name circled and underlined to remind he was doing this. Finally, en we page he said he finally had enough muney. and bought me
the Game Boy Color I was asking fer. He wrote down a meme to remind buy mere games befire my birthday. Gums didthat I traded his bike, he only wrote down we sentence. ‘Never hurt the people
you Ieve-” I couldn' t read anymore. I sat there and cried. Forthe first time in my adult life, I cried.