Childhood Memories of Dad

Childhood Memories of Dad

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A memento is a reminder of the past, a keepsake. They come in many shapes and sizes. People save objects for many diverse reasons. In my case, I will forever keep and pass on my keepsake to my children because of the many good and bad memories it evokes from my childhood and about my father. It is a lime green 1976 KX250 dirt bike that my father had given to me as a child to restore and was exactly the same as the one he had bought as a teen. It is all black with a lime green gas tank that says Kawasaki and has two large knobby tires. It is one of the first race models that was produced for use on motocross dirt tracks and also the same as the first bike I would ever ride. The bike that would bring my father and I close together, and the bike that would make me love riding off road vehicles forever.

I was only knee-high to a grasshopper when I first felt the wail of a two stroke engine underneath me. The noise that bike made was like a mother’s soft voice to a crying baby. I would usually just be sitting inside my grandparent’s house playing video games when I would here the loud purr of the motorcycle’s engine. I would light up with total excitement and usually run to the door to see if my Dad was going to take me for a ride. Most of the time I would end up in sheer joy, but occasionally, I would just get a feeling of disappointment. It’s the good times that I remember the best. I would put my worst clothes on because I knew I was going to get dirty. Then I would run outside to see my Dad putting his helmet on and revving the lime green bike up, while light blue smoke seeped from the exhaust pipe, which ran underneath the black engine.

After I was done putting on the shiny new helmet and goggles that my Dad had bought me, he would pick me up and place me right in front of him, between him and the gas tank, so I could hold on to the crossbar on the handlebars. Then as he let the aluminum clutch lever out easy and gradually twisted the throttle, we would speed off around the gate and down the dirt road behind the house.

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Childhood Memories of Dad Essay

- A memento is a reminder of the past, a keepsake. They come in many shapes and sizes. People save objects for many diverse reasons. In my case, I will forever keep and pass on my keepsake to my children because of the many good and bad memories it evokes from my childhood and about my father. It is a lime green 1976 KX250 dirt bike that my father had given to me as a child to restore and was exactly the same as the one he had bought as a teen. It is all black with a lime green gas tank that says Kawasaki and has two large knobby tires....   [tags: Personal Narrative]

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We would go out for a couple hours, riding all around the coal mines and woods in Duncott, going up huge hills and speeding over any obstacle. I remember riding down the middle of the railroad tracks and feeling the knobby tire go over each railroad tie because of the outdated coiled suspension on the rear wheel. The infrequent but fun rides went on for quite some years before the time would come that I wanted to get my own bike and ride my Dad’s. I finally got big enough so that I could hold a bike up myself, so I saved all my birthday and Christmas money and bought my own bike. It wasn’t what I really wanted, but it would serve its purpose: to be beaten to the ground so I could learn how to handle a bike before I could ride the powerful green machine.

I had learned everything I needed to know and it was finally time for me to try it out, to ride the 250. My Dad told me I could ride it if I could start it. The long kick shaft was too much for me; I couldn’t do it! I was quite disappointed but I guess my Dad felt bad because he started it for me, eventually. I slowly let out the clutch and ka-put. The bike had stalled; I tried again and again. Finally, on about the forth attempt I got going. I rode the bike around and around the yard! I never wanted to stop, but unfortunately it was getting late; it was time to go in and get cleaned up. Over the next several months, I would continue these short rides around the yard before my Dad let me ride it behind the house where he couldn’t see, but I still wasn’t allowed to go over the other side of the mountain.

Then one summer, my cousin, Roger, had come to stay at my grandparents for summer break with me. So everyday we would go out riding around the area. He would take our ATV, and I would ride the awesome racer. It was a normal day of riding when I decided to try to jump off this one dirt mound with the bike. Everything was fine, until the jumping part came into effect. The bike flipped end over end hitting me in the face and landing on top of me. I was knocked out for a minute or two when my cousin came over to check on me. I was stunned and hurt. My lip was cut open. I was quite bruised and had a lot of brush burns on most of my left forearm. He helped me up, and I tried to start the bike; I was too weak. It wouldn’t start, because it was flooded! My cousin took me on the four-wheeler, and we went to the house and got my Dad. While my grandfather cleaned my wounds with peroxide my Dad went and got his bike. It wasn’t in that bad of shape, but the exhaust pipe that went underneath the bike and pointed out the back, now pointed straight up in the air. Dad wasn’t too happy with me at this point, so I wasn’t allowed to ride it for a while. As soon as I was allowed to ride it again, I was back riding though. My Dad knew I loved his bike, so he told me something I could have never even imagined. His brother, my uncle, Gery, had bought the same exact bike the same time my Dad did. He had wrecked it years ago and didn’t have the money to fix it. So my Dad bought it for spare parts. He said it was in an old shanty behind the house and we could restore it and it would be mine. We pulled out all the old rusted parts and began to sort through them all.

We started from the frame up sanding everything down and repainting everything the original color. He had most of the old parts, but some parts we had to go buy or try to order off the Internet somewhere. I loved every minute of this. We had almost everything we needed to get the bike running until we went to get the magneto. The part had cost 300 dollars if Kawasaki even produced it, which they didn’t. We are still at this point on the bike; it is all together but does not run. Hopefully it will be running soon, but even if the bike never runs it will be kept in the family because of all the good and bad memories it brings back. It is only actually worth about 50 dollars to some people for scrap metal, but to me it priceless, because I could never get rid of it. For the rest of my life, every time I see that 76 KX250 and its lime green gas tank, it will bring back all the memories from my childhood with my father’s identical bike.
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