That Story Is Complete Bull-y

(I am somewhere between four and six years old. I recently got my sister’s old bike and I can pedal without the side-wheels. Proud of myself, I take it for a spin through the street. One of the street kids comes to me and asks if he can take it for a spin. Gullible me says yes, and the boy takes it down the street and back.)

Me: “I want it back now.”

Kid: “No.”

Me: “It is my bike!”

Kid: “Now it’s mine!”

(The kid takes it for another spin and I start crying. Unfortunately, there is no one to help me and eventually, I just step into the road and spread my arms to stop him. The kid doesn’t stop. He hits me, drives over me, and takes off. I go home crying and my mom hurries me to the doctor because I am bleeding out of my head. When we get home, my big sister has gone to the kid’s house to get my bike back. This is how it went, according to her.)

Sister: “[Kid] took my sister’s bike. I need it back.”

Kid’s Mother: “No, he didn’t.”

Sister: “Yes, he did. It’s that yellow bike over there. It used to be mine.”

Kid’s Mother: “That’s a boy’s bike.”

(It somewhat resembles a cross bike.)

Sister: “No, it isn’t. It’s used to be mine and now it’s my sister’s.”

Kid’s Mother: “Your sister gave it to my son. He told me she gave it to him.”

Sister: “That is not true. My sister is now at the doctor because she’s bleeding from her head. Give me back her bike or I’ll tell my mom when she gets back. And [Kid] should stay away from my sister, forever.”

(My sister got the bike back and the kid became the local bully, picking on me more than once. I could never comprehend how a mother could think her son was gifted a bike.)