Radio Flyer by Pail Writer

It was the end of July with my birthday in the first week of August quickly approaching. I was eight years old going on nine and had been asking for a bright red Radio Flyer wagon since Christmas.

Being brought up on a dairy we had little money but a great deal of work to be done. I am not sure that a day went by that I didn’t state some form of justification for the wagon with everything from using it to haul feed to working to clear rocks from the field. With every reason I could think of to get the wagon, I received a reason not to make the purchase. I was very certain that I would pass into my golden years having never received that most desired wagon.

Finally my birthday arrived and I opened present after present with great anticipation expecting some sign of a Radio Flyer wagon. Perhaps a note or a card would give me a clue as to where it was hidden but nothing emerged. It was with a heavy and troubled heart that I went back to my room as did my older brother and sister. Within a few minutes my Father called me back into the living room where I found him and Mom sitting on the couch sipping cautiously on their coffee. I quickly glanced around the room in hopes that I would find a wagon but once again was disappointed. My Father asked me to go look in the trunk of the car and bring him a hammer. This struck me as odd since the tools were kept in the garage and more to the point what did he need with a hammer, but I did as I was told. I went outside to the car, an old Chevy Impala that we had had for some years now, opened the trunk and to my surprise there sat a bright red Radio Flyer wagon. Knowing that my task was to bring them a hammer, I looked diligently for that hammer but there was not one to be found. I left the wagon as I found it and went back in with a grin and glow about me that could have blocked out the sun. I stood there trembling with excitement and explained that I could not find a hammer in the trunk. They asked what I saw and immediately I burst at the seams with “a bright red wagon.” The three of us went back out to the car and once again opened the trunk to reveal the wagon that I had dreamed of and pleaded for repeatedly for the last several months. My Father pulled it out of the car and with a snicker in his voice pointed out the hammer that he had requested. I knew then that the hammer was not needed and to this day I have never forgotten about that hammer nor my bright red Radio Flyer wagon.

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