I’ve gotta hand it to my parents. If nothing else, they’ve got a great sense of humor over things. When I complained so publicly last week about never owning a Big Wheel, they searched long and hard for the reason behind their funsuckery. (Yeah, I just invented a new word. Go, me). They were visiting my brother and his girlfriend in Southern California when I posted that entry, and according to Esther, my mom spent the rest of the day wandering around their house asking out loud, “Why did we never let Mark have a Big Wheel?” To which my dad would reply, “Because they were stupid. That big ass wheel looked ridiculous.”
Oh, father. If by “ridiculous” you mean “cool,” then right on. They were ultra ridiculous!
A few days later, my mom sent me an email with a photo attachment. “THIS is why you never had a Big Wheel!” she declared triumphantly. Only, it wasn’t a very convincing argument. This is what she sent me:
Oh, sure. I might look happy in that picture. But I was all of three years old and simply didn’t know better at the time! I mean, I’m also wearing these weird purplish-blue shoes, and don’t even get me started on the brown striped shirt. I was pretty clueless (and gullible) back then. Trust me, those tiny six-inch wheels are no substitute for the glory of a Big Wheel.
This morning, we picked up my mom for a Costco run, and when she opened the door she thrust something into my hands. It was a box of Cookie Crisp cereal, which was hilarious because in that same post I complained about how my parents also never let me eat Cookie Crisp when I was growing up, which had – like the Big Wheel – left me feeling all sorts of deprived. So I got a good laugh out of that, especially when she said, “Don’t say we never let you eat Cookie Crisp cereal in your life!” I suppose late is better than never (and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to find a Big Wheel beneath my Christmas tree this year. Hint, hint).
I suppose I should start complaining that they never bought me that Mini Cooper I always wanted? (In reality, I’ve only “always wanted” a Mini Cooper since The Italian Job came out in 2003, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease, right)? I’m sure my dad would say Mini Coopers are “stupid” and “ridiculous” anyway, and would point out that I did get to drive a Chevette for my senior year of high school.
(By the way, I used to ask the girls if they “wanted to take a ride in my ‘Vette”. I was always surprised by the looks of disappointment on their faces when they saw my not-so-pimped-out ride).
True story: later on I had it painted candy apple red, tinted the windows, and added a groovy red racing stripe to the windshield. Sadly, that didn’t change the fact that it was still a 1980 Chevy Chevette with a broken gas gauge and a propensity for losing power on the freeway. Similar to the fact that, regardless of the number of plastic surgeries she has, Joan Rivers is still Joan Rivers.
I wish I had that “after” picture. (Of my ‘Vette, not Joan Rivers). I’ll have to dig it up and post in in a forthcoming entry.
Anyway, I’ll keep this short since it’s a holiday weekend and everybody’s probably busy barbecuing or camping or recalling fondly their halcyon days of youth spent riding Big Wheels. Catch ya later!
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Mark My Words 
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