It was a snowy Christmas Eve and I was a 8 years old with a temper like a lion with a thorn in its foot. I had written my letter to Santa and had posted it over two weeks ago. I had asked for the most amazing brand new bike as my old one had gone rusty from my lack of care for it. David! What do you want because Im busy I yelled back into the kitchen. If you dont go to bed soon Sant Claus wont turn up.
Its only half past eight. Maybe if I stay up long enough I might get to see him leaving my new bike had been dreaming about getting a new bike for nearly three months. I had saw it in the local bike shop. It was silver with blue stripes along it and had really cool looking brakes and suspension. Santa only comes to children who are good and go to bed early and do as there mothers tell them to do. my mum said with a very sarcastic tone.
OK, OK Im going! So off I plodded to bed without another word even though I knew Id never get to sleep. As I lay in my bed I started thinking about Santa and how nice a person he is to deliver all the presents that children want to then. I still didnt seem anymore likely to fall asleep so I started to read a magazine. Tick Tock, Tick Tock. I just wished time would go faster. Finally I fell asleep.
I started to dream about my new bike and how all my friend would be so jealous of me. I was riding down the street and as I went past everybody they lay down on the ground and started worshipping my bike and screaming were not worthy, were not worthy. I woke up and was out of my bed like a flash. I bolted down the stairs like a cheetah. I ran into the living room expecting to see a room full of presents and my new bike: instead I was greeted by the faces of my mum and dad and there was no presents. Wheres my bike! WHERES…
The Essay on Best Childhood Memory When Riding a Bike Goes Wrong
The assignment topic that we were to choose from was somewhat challenging for me. We were asked to write about our fondest childhood memory. Growing up with six younger siblings and a large number of cousins, there have been many entertaining occasions we have shared. One of my warmer memories was when I was 11 years old on July 4, 2006 at my great grandmother’s house with my siblings and cousins. ...
MY… BIKE! Calm down son. Youve only been asleep for an hour. Santa hasnt come yet.
my dad said with a cheesy grin on his face. Go you on back to bed and Im sure hell be here soon. So off I went back to bed. I was started to go crazy.
All of the running about had really taken it out of me so I was sleeping like a baby in no time. I opened my eyelids, which felt like lead weights were weighing them down, and looked at the clock expecting it to be only about 11 oclock at night and when I realised it was seven thirty in the morning I was out of my bed and down the hall and stairs in record time. I burst into the room and scanned it looking for my new bike but couldnt find it. I started to feel tears running down my face and felt like I had just been hit by a bus. I ran up to my parents room and started screaming. I couldnt believe that Santa hadnt brought me my bike.
I was going to be the laugh of my school because I had told everybody about my new bike. I would never trust Santa again. I hate him. I hate him. I just ran off to my room and sulked. It wasnt until this day that I realised that it wasnt Santa who let me down.
It was my mum and dad.
