The
Kiss That Polio Left On My Leg … And My Love Affair With A Bicycle
(From Memoir, A Dot In Time)
To: My sister
who gave me the bicycle charm … and to all who have experienced a handicap.
I sat alone on the cold
tile floor in the small bathroom of my mother’s sewing room, above our garage
in our home in Cuba, wiping tears. Coming through the window I could hear the
sounds of children laughing and ringing their bicycle bells.
“I want a bicycle. I
think I can ride!” I had said to my mother and father again that morning but
they just gave me that sad, lost look.
I knew what they were
thinking. Stricken with polio at the age of four I was a survivor. The
diagnosis of the doctor, “She will probably never walk again,” had been deleted
by heaven’s plans for me. Months at the hospital, with a year of bed at home,
and then I walked! But before polio retreated it left its signature kiss. Some
of the muscles in my right leg had atrophied, never to be revived again. My
parents worried that I would fall off a bicycle and be seriously hurt.
Yes, I couldn’t lift my
right leg. Steps of stairs would be taken for the rest of my life with my left
leg. No skating. Not enough control with my right leg to keep my balance. But
no bicycling?
A day of “Reyes Magos” came, the day of The Three
Kings, who leave presents like Santa Claus in the United States. And, there it
was. A bicycle! But with training wheels? How could I ride such a thing? Here I
was eight. Ridiculous. Children in the neighborhood would laugh at me!
No compromises were
made. Mami and Papi knew I needed to do a great deal just to learn to balance
even getting on a bike with only one healthy leg. So the work started. And yes,
some children from the neighborhood stared and snickered. And that bicycle was to be used to ride to
our new school. My father’s business had done so well that we were going to a
beautiful private school for girls, The American Dominican Academy, on a very
large property where the pupils entered the gates and rode and rode their bikes
to the buildings. And most of the students were well-to-do. What would those
classy girls think of me riding with those baby wheels behind me?
First day was the
hardest. And the grins and smiles did come but I was determined to be proud. I
was riding a bike! And I rode and I rode, pedaling with the power of that
strong left leg while the wind hit my face. The bicycle had given me wings!
Much riding practice
brought confidence to me and my parents. A bicycle graduation day arrived. The
training wheels were taken away. At last, I was normal, like the other children. And along with some falls and
scraping of knees I had learned precious lessons.
First, no matter how
hard, don’t give up on my dreams.
Second, remember my
parent’s wisdom. Papi said, while teaching me to ride, “Keep your eyes ahead,
not on your feet. Watch your balance. Test your brakes before you start. Look
out for any danger ahead.” Wow! Life’s
lessons I’ll never forget.
I rode my bicycle all
the way into university life when, as a newlywed couple, we studied together at
the University of Florida and I didn’t know, yet, how to drive a car. Off to
class every day, up and down hills I flew on my red bike!
Some
see a bicycle and see a tool for exercising and a fun ride. Me? I see a bicycle
and behold the conquering of the pain from rejection and loss, the victory over
a handicap, and the love of parents who took a risk in letting their child
learn how to fly.
The charm my sister gave me. The bracelet I bought was not gold so it tarnished with time. The charm my sister gave me many years ago was gold. I keep it as treasure. Golden like the love that gave it to me.
