Joy Rides/walks at Home

How was it possible for me to foresee that the same scene may reappear in a half century later when I was riding a bicycle as a little girl in an elongated living/bedroom?

When we were little kids, we were locked up in the house by our parents, not allowed to play outside. It had a reason.

Our parents locked us up in the house every day when they went to work. This was during a tumultuous and chaotic period of time in China – the Cultural Revolution. Schools were closed and two-thirds of the teachers in the nation were purged from the teaching force. Neighborhood kids were out there on streets and in alleys, playing games, fighting with each other, and doing mischievous things. One of the “gangsters” – I recall – invented a wicked “game” – two kids would hold each end of a rope and stand on each side of the street, leaving it loose while waiting for someone to walk over it. At the right moment when someone got really close to the rope, the two would then pull the rope abruptly, causing this person to fall down badly. When summer came, many kids would climb on large garbage cans behind the community wall to throw small stones, watermelon rinds, or whatever they picked at young couples who were walking by. Why couples? Because they seemed to act like Bourgeoisie, so their behavior called for punishment just like those “bad” teachers who deserved being condemned or purged. This “game” usually took place in evenings, because, for one thing, couples liked to walk in dim streetlights, and, for another, the darkness could provide a cover. This game became more aggressive over time. More and more kids joined in and they went right in the street during the daytime instead of in the evening behind the walls, and they tossed stones to anyone other than just couples. One day, I followed others out to the street. We threw a handful of gravels at a passerby, and the man who was our target turned around to chase us. I was quickly caught by this furious red-faced man. My feet were suddenly lifted off the ground, and my throat choked, like a chicken being ready to be sliced. My mother, at this very moment, out of the blue appeared on the scene. She saved me at the nick of time, but I had no idea there was a heavy price to pay by me and my siblings: all three of us – me, my sister and my brother – were prohibited to go outside of the house from that day on for quite some time.

Our family lived on the second floor of a big French style house in French quat in Shanghai. The second floor was actually an attic which was an undivided huge loft, plus there wasn’t much furniture, that’s how I was able to ride a bicycle. The bike, at the time, was mean of transportation, people usually kept it in home, if the space allowed. My parents may take bus; therefore, this bike became our toy. Actually, “riding” merely meant gliding over with one foot placed on one pedal. Day by day, I learned how to control the bike’s handle, which eventually helped me ride the bike with ease in the street once I was able to reach the saddle.

Just the other day while pacing in my house, now, a little daily exercise away from the computer, a half-century-old image emerged from my memory storage: a naughty girl with a pigtail stood on the pedal of a large bike dashing from one end to the other in a sizable room. This scene evoked in me a nostalgic feeling and I found myself mumbling, “How history can reveal its traces in so many ways!”

During the pandemic, having a good-sized house becomes crucially important to stay sane, especially over the past unusually long snowy days. Chicago residential lots are typically measured about 25’ x 125’, and the houses will take up seventy to ninety percent of the entire lots. I’ve measured a single lap in my house by the number of steps I take; it’s sixty, more or less. In my childhood home where I practiced bike-riding was shorter in length than I thought. I could complete a lap from this end to that end on the pedal in a blink of an eye. However, I was grateful to have a bike and a large room. That was one fun part of my childhood I remember fondly. Remember, at that time, we didn’t have toys, children’s books, or sorts of snacks to pass time, and parents usually worked from very early morning to evening. I was one of thousands of kids locked up by parents to keep us safe. Circumstances have changed drastically over the decades. Today, I lock myself up voluntarily also for safety reason, albeit it is a passive choice. The difference is that I have more than abundance of food, snacks, fruit, and other supplements now. To put it in another way, “you name it, I have it”, and everything can be delivered to me at my door.

But did I complain at all for not having stuff a kid should have? I don’t remember I ever did, just joy filled up my little heart while I was on the bike bumping into the wall one end to another, giggling….