The Stuff I Never Got

I wonder sometimes if the stuff you wanted, and never got, is as important and influential on one's life as the things you did acquire.

As a little kid, I always wanted a Flexible Flyer. There's probably a better name for them, and most people think of Flexible Flyers as sleds, which the company did manufacture. No, this was a sled with wheels...big solid disks with thin solid rubber tires, rolling on ball bearings, that allowed it to scoot down sidewalks and streets with amazing speed. To my seven-year old eyes, it was to a wagon what a Ferrari is to a Ford Focus. The smooth wood platform balanced over a red-painted steel frame, every bit as purposeful as a racing car. Wagons were for hauling stuff. Flexie Flyers were for hauling ass.

I never got one. On rare occasions I'll spot one in an antique store, and I'll glide my fingers over the wood, the steel rails, and test the smoothness of the ball-bearing mounted wheels. I'd probably buy one now, except for the fact that I'm no longer three and a half feet tall and fifty pounds; My middle aged body would dwarf the Flyer and render it useless.

Another item I never got was a real baseball mitt. I know; how could any American kid survive without a mitt? It was something every boy used every single day back then. Somehow, I never got one. Today I see them in the sporting goods stores; so many different manufacturers now! Nike sells gloves? WTF? Rawlings and Spaulding still are around, though the ones our local Big Five carries all seem to be made in China or Taiwan. Why I'm surprised by this, I do not know.

Here's a real irony for you: I did have a mitt, but never knew it. When I was born, my grandfather, Sherman Abbott, purchased a really nice catcher's mitt for me. It was so nice, my parents never let me have it until I was too old to use it. Today it sits beside my bed, accompanied by a softball my grandfather later gave me from down in his basement. God bless ya, Grampa. At least you tried.

Back around my first year of high school, my dad let out with a little bit of information I've dreamt about ever since... Apparently someone at work had an old single-cylinder motorcycle they wanted to give away. Give away!!!??? Sign me up. And not just any motorcycle, mind you; it was a DUCATI. Now, while I wasn't as well-versed in motorcycles then as I am today, I knew Ducati to be more than just a foreign made bike, Ducati's were legendary in their style and racing heritage. Me? With a Ducati? Oh. My. God.

Nothing ever materialized out of the rumor; I was left to ride my lawnmower-engined mini-bike up and down the driveway for a couple more years. I didn't even own a real motorcycle until I was in my mid-thirties. But the image of that graceful single piston "Duck" never left my imagination. Even today, I find myself scanning eBay for my lost dream bike, and the ones that are for sale are worth many thousands of dollars I don't have to waste on such things.

What all this means, I'm at a loss to explain. I've had plenty of cool toys over the years, enjoyed them, then moved on. But I guess it's like the old story about the fish that got away... they get bigger and nicer as the years go on.