This is the first half of a memoir piece I am writing as a member of my Year 6 writing community.

I thought I’d be going over to the park after lunch.  You know: the climbing frame, the roundabout, just hanging with whoever was around.  And then he asked me.  My dad asked me if I wanted to go over to the park and ride my bike. With him! I felt so special that he wanted to spend time with me.  Other children would see me with my dad, they would know that he loved me.  They would know that I had a dad.

I found my trainers in the garden and met him by the front door.  By the bikes.  Three bikes fighting for space in the corridor, their handlebars had shredded the wallpaper over the years.  The warm feeling in my chest vanished, instantly replaced with creeping dread.  I tried not to scrape the radiator as I clumsily wrestled my bike from beneath the pile.  I chatted nervously as I wheeled the bike along the pavement, unable to enjoy a single moment of one of the few conversations I ever had with my dad.  We’d be at the park soon and he’d find out that the bike my mum had bought for my birthday years before was a white elephant.

As we waited for the lights to change, I scrambled together a plan.  I reckon I could manage to cycle for a few seconds along the short, flat bit at the bottom of the park.  I felt calmer.  The sun on my face felt good.  Walking with my dad felt so good, I almost forgot about the bike.  He was interested in what I was learning at school, so I told him about the end of year performance.  However, he wanted to know about the actual lessons which I was finding hard to remember; it had been the summer forever.  To be honest, this was the first time I’d thought about school in weeks.  I wondered when we’d be going shopping for my new uniform, mum hadn’t mentioned it.

The panic began to rise in my chest as my dad held open the gate to the park for me, before beginning to stride up the steep path at the edge of the green.  I trotted to keep up with him, struggling to keep control of the blasted bike.  It swayed onto the crunchy August grass, making it harder to steer.  Who knew?!  We passed the climbing frame and the roundabout in a blur. There was no way back.