June 1, 2011
By Anonymous

I peddle down that bumpy street on my hot pink bike, my blonde hair pulled back into two pigtails. Following behind you, I only see your bald head and red and black flannel shirt. The bumps bounce my pigtails up and down. You look back to make sure I’m following behind at a safe distance. The lake flies nip at our skin as we breeze our way to Menominee Park on our annual father, daughter trip. The green trees pass by as we get closer and closer, the fencing that holds the animals in pass us by. I park my pink bike next to yours in the forest green bike racks. The grey twirling bike lock tightly holding our bikes together like you do to me in my life. Walking by your side, I reach for your hand. My palm is scooped up inside because of the size. We walk together on this nice sunny day over the wooden bridge. You pick me up, and lean me over to look at the little turtles that are sun bathing on the moss covered rocks. Their necks stretched out like mine. You put me down, grab my hand and start walking. Staying on the cement path, ducks and babies float around in the pond with no care in the word.

We are much alike, our personality mostly. I act more like you then I do my mother. The way we like to have fun while were just sitting at home, I pretty much do everything like you. Your sun-kissed skin, your once brown hair. You never were the type of person who would complain if you didn’t get something you wanted. Maybe it was they way grandma raised you; maybe it was the country life. You were always the smiple one who always slided by, who never complained about money when we didn’t have it. You were our rock when we were weak, even if we were strong and mighty, I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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