I didn’t know I loved the way my grandmother’s voice would rise when she got irritated, which was often; or how she would tell me I didn’t know shit and then tell me what I ought to know even though she didn’t know what I knew.

I didn’t know I loved the way Grandpa was so proud of his organic tomatoes, how he’d make a fuss about them being home grown—better than store bought.

I didn’t know I loved my first bicycle, with it’s banana seat and high hog handlebars, purple metallic paint and orange flag.

I didn’t know I loved the way my brother fussed over my bike like it was his own.

© November 26, 2002