Farewell to My Bicycle

My daddy bought me a bicycle when I was two years old. It is my pink bicycle.

I liked to ride it very much. I used to ride it inside of my house with two training wheels. Sometime I rode it to parks, or to the gym with my mom. Sometime I rode to the farmers' store with my mom.

When I was four years old, I was ready to ride the bike without training wheels all by myself. I put stickers that my sister gave to me to make it look even better.

Today, the rear wheel popped.

I am going to ride another bike that is bigger than my pink bicycle. I brother just fixed the bigger bike for me two months ago, it used to be my sister's, I think she got it when she was seven, probably. It  is still too high for me. It has a pair of breaking handles, but my hands are still too small for it. But if I want to ride it, I have to wear protecting gears like pads. When I want to stop, I just fall down to the grass.  The grass is the most safe place to fall on, because otherwise on concrete sidewalks, I will get hurt.

When I was asked to say "farewell" to my pink bicycle, it makes me feel sad.

Mom's note: You don't need to be sad. I am happy to see you grow bigger.