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A little something I sent to my brother yesterday on his birthday. It’s probably a lot less amusing to the large chunk of the world-at-large with no knowledge of my family history, but it amused me:

Once upon a time, in a faraway land known as Cerritos, there lived two young brothers, Pat and Greg. They lived with their sister, Chrissy, their parents Mom and Dad, and the occasional dog, cat, hamster, lizard, or other small animal.

They were growing boys who had to eat, and because of this they found themselves one day at the McDonald’s near their home. They loved McDonald’s: Pat’s favorite was the Big Mac, while Greg preferred the Quarter Pounder with Cheese. On this particular day, though, something was different. Instead of the usual signs describing the latest Happy Meal prize, hanging over the counter was a bicycle.

This was not just any bicycle. It was a shiny, silver Nishiki 10-speed with a Shimano derailleur and comfort handlebar grips. A banner over this wonder of modern engineering proclaimed that this bicycle would be the prize for whoever raised the most money in pledges during that year’s Bike-a-Thon against muscular dystrophy.

Pat and Greg were enthralled by the bicycle. It almost seemed to have a glow of its own, and if they listened very closely they could hear a faint chorus of angels emanating from somewhere deep within its aluminum frame. It was, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing either of them had ever seen, and they signed up for the Bike-a-Thon on the spot.

It would be a few weeks before the ride, and they spent that time going door-to-door getting neighbors to pledge some amount of money per mile that they would ride. They also got their father to bring the pledge sheet into work – which, in hindsight, was brilliant. What employee is going to tell the President of the company “No, sir, I’d rather not promise a dime for each mile your brats ride”?

When the day of the ride came, the two boys were excited. Waving goodbye to their parents, they mounted their bicycles and rode toward the Hawaiian Gardens McDonald’s where they would start the Bike-a-Thon. It was a beautiful day. It was sunny and bright out, but not hot; a perfect day for a bike ride.

They rode all day. Surprising themselves with their own endurance, they managed to ride all the way out to Knott’s Berry Farm and back more than once, stopping only occasional for a free burger, fries, or a Coke from one of the McDonald’s on their route. After a while, however, it became clear that Pat had an advantage over Greg. Pat’s chocolate-brown three-speed was a much better bike for long-distance riding, and he spent most of the day in third gear, pedaling at a slow but steady pace. Greg, on the other hand, had a little blue motocross bike. While it may hay have been cooler-looking than Pat’s dorky three-speed, it was meant for short distances. For every time Pat had to turn his pedals, Greg had to do it three times. In addition, Greg had skinny little legs that probably would have been more useful as toothpicks than pedal-pushers. While he made a valiant effort to keep up with his brother, by late afternoon what little strength he had was fading fast.

As they began approaching their starting point, Pat was ready to keep going, but his smaller, weaker brother was ready to give up. Greg knew he couldn’t keep up with brother, whose endurance seemed to have no end, so he offered a deal. If Pat would agree to stop at the next checkpoint and go home, and Greg would later win the bike, Pat could have it. It seemed like a fair deal. Obviously, if Pat let Greg stop, and continued alone as he wanted to, he would have more miles than Greg. Because of this, though he had less per mile pledged to him than Greg did, he would have a higher total in the end. Greg, however, was Pat’s younger brother, and Pat didn’t feel right letting him go home all by his underweight, defenseless self, and because he was a good and caring big brother, he agreed to the deal.

In the following weeks, the boys gathered their pledges and submitted them to McDonald’s. They never really expected to win the bike – after all, they were only two small boys, and many of the riders had been adults. Surely there was no way they could win, especially after Greg had wimped out and left the ride early. Still in the following weeks the waiting to find out if they had won was excruciating. Pat spent that time daydreaming not so much about the bike, but how much fun it would be to share with his younger brother. He thought about how they could share it, or how he would let Greg ride the handlebars while Pat did all the work of pedaling. He’d take Greg to the Gemco, and the TG&Y… maybe even all the way the the Cerritos Mall. Oh, the fun they would have together.

Then, one day, the letter came. It was unbelievable… they had actually won the bike! Well, “they” hadn’t won the bike; Pat had. After all, a deal is a deal, right?

Wrong.

In a fit of selfishness and dishonesty, Greg refused to give up the bike. While he had no rightful claim, he insisted the bike was his, and that Pat had no right to it. He had obviously lost his mind.

Seeing no other solution to the problem, Pat appealed to their mother. He explained the situation, and that Greg was refusing to give him his bike. Pat knew he’d need the voice of a rational, ethical adult to explain the situation to his younger brother.

To Pat’s horror, it was not to be. In a moment, everything Pat had ever learned about honesty, integrity, and keeping promises was dashed to a million jagged, heart-rending pieces. “I think Greg should keep the bike,” she said.

This was insanity. Pat began to worry for the mental health of his mother, who had always tried to teach them right from wrong. How could she not see that this was wrong? Pat worried that aliens had abducted his mother and replaced her with an evil replica, who was first going to destroy his family’s morals, then later, possibly, the world’s. Maybe Greg had drugged her. He didn’t know what had happened, but in that moment his childhood was shattered, as he realized that the people he had grown up with, and loved, and trusted, had somehow changed. They had given themselves over to all that was evil and wrong, and Pat felt very alone and scared.

Shortly after that (whether it was that day, weeks or months later, nobody recalls today), Pat felt a need to get away. Greg had left the 10-speed in the garage, and Pat saw his chance to get away from the wrecked shell of the family he thought had loved him. He rode and rode, and didn’t stop until he got to the Alpha Beta.

Some have said Pat had only ridden there to get a candy bar and a Coke, but those who know the real story know that his heart was broken, and that he needed some time alone to think. Contemplating how his life had come crashing down around him after his mother’s betrayal, he withdrew from the world, hardly noticing what was going on around him. Then, during his moment of weakness, a thief snuck up and stole the bike.

Having nowhere else to go, Pat walked home, dejected. When he arrived without the bike, Greg was furious, and demanded his bike back. It was all Pat could do to hold back a sad little tear, not so much because of what had happened but from the pain of seeing how far into greed and possessiveness his brother had fallen.

But that would not be the last insult. Greg went to his mother, and she emerged from the house and explained that Pat should pay to replace the bike.

The betrayal of both his brother and his mother took Pat many, many years to get over, but he did. One day he woke up and realized that he needed to forgive and forget, and that even though he had lived through watching his family corrupted by greed, or insanity, or whatever had caused their downfall, he needed to rise above that – and that the only way to do that was to be the better person. He would show Greg and his mom that, although they might wallow in the deepest pits of evil and avarice, he was better than that. Someone needed to be the beacon of goodness and light that all of the Morrises had once been, and Pat was determined to be that beacon.

So, Greg, on this, your fortieth birthday, I give you back the bicycle that claimed your soul, and that of our mother. One of us needs to be the better man, or we will never put this bitter feud behind us. It also occurs to me that you now have two young sons of your own – sons who, perhaps, may look upon this bike as we once looked upon the Nishiki, hanging like a beacon over the McDonald’s counter. And if they do, I leave it to you to decide which of your two sons you will favor by allowing him to ride it.

Choose carefully. It would sadden me to see you destroy the life of one of your own children with a bicycle, the same way it once happened to me.

Happy Birthday.