Personal Essay for English Class free essay sample

Vigneswaralingam ENG4U1-06 Friday, February 22nd, 2013 Love Thy Stealing Neighbor Can you imagine your bicycle suddenly disappearing when you leave it out in front of your house for just a few minutes? Bicycles are convenient, and when I was young I was in that era where they were the most popular vehicles. If you brought your bicycle to school you automatically became the â€Å"coolest† kid in school. No matter how the bicycle was. It could’ve been old, new, expensive, pink, or had bright gold lightning bolts printed on the bars—you were still part of the â€Å"cool† kids squad. I remember reading that approximately one billion people in the world own a bicycle, that’s a lot considering that there is an estimated population of slightly over seven billion people on Earth. I was part of that one billion people in the world who owned a bicycle until my neighbor stole my bicycle. We will write a custom essay sample on Personal Essay for English Class or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page Now only 999,999,999 people own a bicycle—drastic change isn’t it, just because my neighbor decided to steal my precious bike. I’ve had many bicycles in the past but none of them were like the one I had when I was only nine years old. It wasn’t luxurious or anything, just an old secondhand bicycle, but when I rode it I felt remarkable! It was spray painted with a dark metallic blue that shined in the night sky during late night rides. The bicycle handles had this bright yellow rubber star covers that contained bits of black, which would explain that it was old. The seat was just flawless, it was easy to get on and get off—it was snug and made me feel really high up from the ground. That bicycle I had was fantastic it really made me feel like a queen when I sat on it—but not even Queen Elizabeth could’ve possibly had the amazing bike I had. It was during perhaps early June when I was roughly nine years old, when my bicycle disappeared from my eyes. It was a hot summer day and I had just came home to grab a quick dinner after playing in the park with a couple friends. I recall there was a track where my friends and I would race each other on bicycles—I always came in first! So I reached my house to grab dinner and later my friends and I would return back to the park so I just left my bicycle out in the front of the house, leaning against my garage door. When I usually leave it out in the front my parents would always yell at me saying â€Å"one day someone’s going to steal your bicycle† and forced me to lock it up in the backyard—but I figured I was only going in for a couple minutes, nobody would steal it. I quickly gobbled down my dinner. As I finished and was about to head out the door I heard my favorite show’s theme song—who lives in a pineapple under the sea? SpongeBob Squarepants! My sister was watching SpongeBob Squarepants in the living room with the volume really loud, how could I possibly refuse to watch my favorite show? So I threw my sneakers off and ran into the living room. A few minutes later my friend had called asking if we were still going back but she said that she was tired and that we will go back tomorrow. I was in full SpongeBob Sqaurepants zombie mode so all I was saying was â€Å"uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, okay bye. † As soon as the show finished I recalled I had left my bicycle out and in a few minutes my father would return from work and see it out there. I ran out to bring it to the backyard but as I walked up to the front of my garage it was gone! At that moment I had no idea what to do. I ran into my backyard to check if it was there because maybe my mother took it back for me—but no it wasn’t there. I knew someone stole my bicycle now, I thought maybe they couldn’t have gotten far. I had a one of a kind bicycle so it would be easy to find. So I ran towards the park to see if anyone was riding it and if anyone had it some little kid fights were going to go down—it wasn’t in the park either. I had to face the fact that it was gone—gone forever. I walked back from the park and all I could think about was how I would tell my parents and how they would respond. I pictured that they’d give my a huge hug and be like â€Å"aw, its okay! You’re the coolest kid and the coolest kid deserves another bicycle! † Well that’s not quite what happened. They were just pointing their fingers at me, blaming me for my bicycle being stolen. Their response was nothing like I pictured, â€Å"you’re a complete moron! How many times do we have to tell you not to leave your bike out! Now you have no bicycle and don’t think once that we would buy you a new one. † Why couldn’t they recognize the pain I was going through after losing my bicycle. Days had passed and I was still deprived of a bicycle. All my friends desired to do was ride their bicycles so I always felt left out. I stopped going out much because I couldn’t find much to do without a bicycle—I tried poking holes in the dirt with a stick but ended up flicking dirt into my face. There was absolutely nothing to do. One day as I was sitting eating dinner with my family my father mentioned how he saw my bicycle. Out of astonishment I spit out my food from my mouth, which landed into my sister’s plate, which she beat me up for after. I began to ask him the five w’s and a h questions. To sum up all those questions the answers all came to I. Saw. Our. Neighbor. With. Your. Bicycle. I was really surprised and I thought my father retrieved my bicycle back but to my surprise he didn’t because he thought it was my responsibility if I wanted it back. You know you live in a grim world when your neighbor steals your bicycle. I remember one day I was coming home from the park with my grandma and cousin and I saw my neighbor’s daughter. I ran the fastest I have ever ran—I could’ve even beat Canada’s women’s 1992 three thousand metres Olympic medalist Angela Chalmers, that’s how much adrenaline was running through me. I ran up to her, tapped her on the shoulder and as she turned around I tried to catch my breathe and began yelling. She looked confused and had a bit of fear on her face. I yelled saying that her father was a stealer who stole my bicycle and that I wanted it back. All she could reply to after all that yelling was â€Å"I don’t know what you’re talking about†. How could she not know what I’m talking about? I made it very clear her father stole my bike. She then replied, â€Å"my father didn’t steal your bicycle†. I was going to go on and yell some more but I noticed my grandma and cousin had caught up and was near by. My neighbor’s daughter left and my grandma caught up to me and asked â€Å"are you okay? † I replied, â€Å"I’m fine† but as we walked home everything in my mind was saying, â€Å"no I just want my bicycle back! † My neighbor’s daughter knew exactly what I was talking about. It was about a week after my bicycle was stolen when she came to school on my bicycle—my metallic blue spray painted with bright yellow rubber star covers, bicycle. She mentioned that her father had â€Å"bought† this bicycle for her, which only got me outraged because he stole it from me. I wanted to go up to her and take my bicycle back but for some reason I couldn’t. She wouldn’t believe it’s mine and give it back. Or her father wouldn’t admit he stole my bicycle and gifted it to his daughter. I just didn’t do anything and walked into school—but on the last day of school when I brought scrumptious chocolate chip cookies, I didn’t even give her one. That’s how evil I got. So I let her keep the bicycle, maybe she enjoyed it as much as I loved it. I was now one of the normal school kids who had no bicycle at school, or had no bicycle at all for my situation. It was hard for me to forget that bicycle but my life did go on and eventually my parents brought me a new bicycle. The new bicycle wasn’t as great as the one that got stolen or made me feel like a queen when I sat on it, but it was a bicycle. It got me to places I needed to go and I was up and racing in my friends’ bicycle races again. When looking at this memory now it still makes me mad. When re-living this memory in my head I can see my neighbor and I can see how much I hated him for stealing my bicycle. In the bible it says â€Å"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself†Ã¢â‚¬â€well even now I ain’t loving thy neighbor. I’ve moved houses a long time ago so I’ve never seen my old neighbor in years but if I could just ask one question to him it would be, â€Å"Why? Why did you think it was a good idea to steal my bicycle? † I just want the truth to that question because that bicycle meant a lot to me and we went through a lot together. One thing I’ve learned from this sad memory was not to leave my things hanging around. Since I left my bicycle out when I should’ve locked it in the backyard, it got stolen. Ever since that incident you could see I matured a bit at that time by not leaving my things out where it could get stolen. I’ve been much more careful with my belongings than I was about eight years ago. My bicycle I currently have is always locked up in my backyard or I lock it up in my garage so I don’t repeat the same episode again. I’m now back up and running as a person who owns a bicycle which brings the total of people who own bicycles on Earth to about a billion—I do make a difference to the number. This memory as a child will be with me forever as it made me learn to be more careful and secure with my things—especially with my neighbors.