I got a Banana Seat Bike for Christmas when I was 8, I think. It was a 3 speed, and it was a weird lilac color which I would not have chosen but it didn’t matter at all. It had handle-brakes and a basket and what we called a sissy bar. I don’t know what that means but it was a U-shaped bar at the back of the banana seat, and I think it was meant as a safety feature if you were giving someone a ride….the second person would hold onto it. Both of my neighborhood friends, Lisa Jo and Lisa, had similar bikes. My brother Tommy got one too although I am not sure that his was a 3 speed. We took to the streets immediately. I rode that bike for years. It was a great possession, it’s how I got anywhere, even to distant neighborhoods where other kids also road in packs on bikes. The only time I ever got hurt on this bike was when I was 10 years old. We used to like to ride on the handlebars. Lisa Jo was on the seat with responsibility to both steer and peddle; I was on the handlebars with responsibility to tell her where to go. We were barreling down a hill and we hit a pothole which sent me flying. I hit the street, chin first. I stood up and remember Lisa looking at me in shock. She said “Mary, go home”. There was blood streaming down my face and all over my shirt. I ran through several yards and up the steps to my kitchen. Thankfully my sister June was home, and my mom. June said I needed stitches, and they got me a cold rag to hold on my chin. I don’t remember which hospital we went to; I do remember getting into my mom’s green Volkswagen Beetle to get there. My mom pulled out of our gravel driveway like a bat out of hell. June sat in the back seat with me and held me close to her. I got 10 stitches and a milkshake on the way home. Regardless of this mishap, I was back on the bike in a day or so, maybe even the same day….it was how I experienced independence.