More recipes like:

Tomato Vegetable Soup

For a 5 year old a mystery is magic! That is how it was for me that beautiful sunny morning when my parents woke me from my sleep and announced that something was waiting for me and all I had to do was to find what was hidden somewhere in the house, What could it be? My little feet ran frantically to every room but where was it? It probably took me 1 minute to make my fast round around the house, but it seemed I had been searching for hours. “Where is it?” I screamed. “Please tell me where? Have you seen it?” I ask my mom and dad. They suggest I might open some doors, perhaps closet doors. So I start my expedition in my room, but it’s not there, then my mom’s room and it’s not there, then every other room until I finally reach my brother’s room and when I open the closet door, there it is…a beautiful bright red bicycle. My first two wheeler with training wheels and red and white tassels hanging from the handles. A shiny silver bell, “ring, ring” as I press it over and over again and smile up at my parents. Similar bike from the 60's I finally received what I have been asking for months. I have seen other kids riding on their bikes and I knew I could love that bicycle and ride it proudly up and down my neighborhood. I begged my parents practically everyday for it, and today was the day my eyes would delight at the sight of that dreamy shiny red bike, my dreamy, shiny red bike. Today was going to be a great day. I could hardly wait to take it out for my first ride. I thanked them once, twice, three times and over again. “Please take me out for a ride, so I can try it”, I bellowed impatiently. I don’t remember how long it took my dad to get ready for the outing. I do remember however, standing behind the bathroom door, all dressed up and ready to go, while my dad was getting ready himself. Even though he had told me already not to keep knocking, otherwise it might take him longer, I routinely, continued to ask if he was ready, until he got out of the bathroom, then I stood in front of him until he got dressed and we were ready to go. He carried my bicycle down 4 flights of stairs. Just outside the doors we walked over to his warehouse where he stored his business merchandise and his tools and there he adjusted the training wheels, so that they would not balance the weight evenly, so as to help me to balance myself on the bike. We lived on a hill, not a steep hill, nevertheless it was a hill. On the way up the hill, with my dad walking behind me, I did so well. I rang the bell on the bike, to catch the attention of some passerby children. I said hello to our neighbors who congratulated me on my beautiful new red bike. Wwe stopped to get ice cream at the grocer’s up the hill, approximately a 10th of a mile from home, then when I finished the ice cream, we began our descend down the hill towards home. Going down the hill was a little more unsteady on my training wheels and I was wobbling to and fro and my dad was pulling me back, trying to slow down the descend, he didn’t want to lose his grip and suggested we’d walk back holding the bicycle next to me. I was not an easy to control child, so I decided to make it a go for myself. Before my dad could reach and pull the bike back by the seat, he’s screaming “stop, stop” but I was already on my most daredevil descend of the hill and until it lasted I got the best fearless ride of my life, at that time. Until a Wolkswagen Beetle parked peacefully on the side of the street gained close proximity to my bike and I panicked, closed my eyes and waited for the impact, while I hear my dad screaming behind me “ Oh, Diu miu!”, plainly translated “Oh, my God!” When I opened my eyes, my dad was picking me up from the road, he’s yelling and looking me over for bruises and cuts and asking me if I’m okay. Of course I was to young to know that if I had had an injury my dad would not have spanked me, so I said I was fine, hence I got a spanking and a scolding, right there in public, where everyone could see. Those were the times that spanking was not abusive, but disciplinary. I knew I deserved it for disobeying my dad, but now I could feel the pain of the impact with the car and more than that the impact of my dad’s hands, and I cried. When I looked over to my bike, it was pretty banged up and I was sad. My new bike was a mess, I cried unconsolably. My dad dusted the dirt off of me with his hands, took my hand, picked up the bike and parked it in his warehouse. Then we walked hand in hand back up the 4 flights of stairs, where my mom lovingly sat me down and consoled me while curing my bruises and cuts, after the alarm I caused her and I cried on her shoulders, being sorry about what had just transpired. She kissed me and kissed my bruises and asked me to keep her company in the kitchen while she prepared my comfort soup, red like my bike, with lots of colorful vegetables and I asked her “ Do you think dad will fix the bike for me?” I knew then I would never see the bike again, that before I would visit my dad’s warehouse, the bike would make it’s way to the bike cemetery. The magic of the day had turned into the all too familiar reality, that my parents would never let me ride a bike again for a very long time.