Barry's Birthday Bicycle - 1. Is it a miracle?

Little Barry was almost ten years old. In fact his tenth birthday was due in a couple of weeks. To Barry this would be a very important birthday. After that no longer would his age be a single number, then it would be in double figures.

Barry lived with his Mum, Laura, in a small, council, 2 bed-roomed house in a town in East Anglia in England. He knew nothing of his Dad who, apart from assisting in creating him, had then vanished from both his and his mum’s life, leaving her to bring him up as a single parent. Laura had actually tried very hard to bring up little Barry the right way. She herself had come from a religious family, but they had been too zealous and when she became a teenager she had kicked over the traces and rebelled. She had left home, ended up living in a squat and Barry had been the almost inevitable result. His birth though proved a sort of turning point in her life and she determined to ensure that he was brought up to the best of her ability. Laura slowly dug herself out of the pit into which she had fallen, got a council flat initially and then made a reconciliation with her family. This enabled her to make use of her mother as a baby sitter while she went out to work in an office - for Laura was a bright young lady.

After some years they had moved to this small house where they had now been living for the last three years. Barry had developed into a reasonably well behaved boy, but nevertheless one who got into trouble from time to time both at school at home. He was not a boy for sitting still, which of course led to problems at school and was happiest when he was out playing with his friends. There was a park nearby and beyond that some woods and throughout the summer Barry and his pals could almost inevitably be found in one of those places. He had ginger hair which was parted in the centre of his head and hung down on either side of his forehead. Inevitably he had some freckles, but these were fairly limited in number, green eyes, and a cute snub nose. He was also equipped with a ready smile which he was adept at using to try and diffuse trouble. That was quite a useful attribute as he also had a tendency to be a ‘cheeky little monkey’ as his Gran often said.

Since she had reconciled with her parents Laura had resumed attending church and, as a now redeemed Catholic, Barry went with her every Sunday as well as then going to Sunday school. Both of them believed in God, although to little Barry the concept of ‘God’ was not an easy one to comprehend. He thought of God as being a person who lived somewhere in the sky and kept a watchful eye on everything that happened. He also saw him as being in control of both his and his Mum’s life. He had been taught that he should pray to God and then, provided he was good, what he wanted would usually be granted.

You should not though get the idea that little Barry was an angel. He was not - any more than he was a devil. But from time to time he did get into trouble. When that happened at school he would usually get a detention or be made to write some lines. There had though been a couple of occasions when he had been really naughty and then he had been sent to see the Headmaster - Mr. Simpson. The first time this had happened had been one of those days when Barry simply could not sit still in class. Having told him three of four times that he had to stay in his seat during the lesson his teacher had finally lost patience with him and sent him off to see Mr. Simpson. Barry knew from one of his friends what this meant and he was not looking forward to his visit as he walked along the corridor and then up the stairs before knocking on Mr. Simpson’s door. He was told to come in and then asked to explain the reason for his visit. Once he had done so, Mr. Simpson opened a drawer in his desk, took something out, stood up and walked round to the side where Barry was standing. Barry saw that he had in his hand the white plimsoll that his friend Jarvis had told him about.

Now Barry began to feel afraid. He was not unused to being spanked as his mum considered spanking to be a very effective tool in her armoury as far as her son’s upbringing was concerned. Barry had learnt that there were certain rules that must be obeyed and that if he did not then there would be ‘consequences’. Those consequences sometimes involved having his jeans and underpants taken down and him then laying over his mum’s lap while her hand turned his little bottom from white to at least rosy pink and very occasionally to a slightly deeper shade of red. He accepted these spankings as being part of growing up and learning. Once administered his mum would give him a hug and then life would go on just as before. To Barry this was a much more acceptable form of punishment than being sent to his room without any supper as he knew nearly always happened to Jarvis when he was naughty.

He hadn’t though been so happy when a couple of months ago he had been really naughty. He had been out playing with his friends in the park and they had decided it would be fun to throw stones at a wooden shed. Naturally some of the stones had hit windows with the inevitable consequences. The noise had drawn the park keeper to the scene and he had managed to apprehend two of the culprits - Barry and Jarvis. Both were known to him as frequent visitors and he also knew where they lived so both were escorted home.

Barry found out the next day that for this Jarvis was spanked by his Dad which he said really hurt and went on and on until he was really bawling.

For Barry though there was to be a new experience as Laura was not only upset at her son’s vandalism she was determined to indicate to him that such behaviour was quite simply unacceptable. So that night Barry was taken into her bedroom for his spanking whereas normally it was done in his own. Laura sat down on the stool that stood in front of her dressing table and beckoned Barry towards her. Once he was stood in front of her she took down his jeans and underpants and then he had to tell her what he had done wrong and why he was to be punished. Then for Barry came the big shock as Laura picked up her wooden hairbrush from off the dressing table and told him that tonight he would be feeling this on his backside rather than her hand.

Barry got into position over her lap. He had no idea what the hairbrush would feel like, but as it cracked down on his little left cheek for the first time he found out that it was very different to being spanked with his Mum’s hand. The next spank was on his right cheek and soon Barry was squirming and the tears began to flow as Laura delivered alternate whacks to each cheek. In total she delivered only eight with a final one to each of his sit spots, but for Barry it was more than enough. He was crying profusely and once his Mum had stopped promised himself that he would never, ever, give her reason to spank him with the hairbrush again.

But now here was Mr. Simpson coming towards him with a plimsoll in his hand. In Barry’s mind he felt sure the effects were going to be similar to when his Mum had spanked him with the hairbrush, but at least here he would have on his short grey trousers and his underpants. What he didn’t know was how many whacks he was going to get and all Mr. Simpson told him to do was bend over and touch his toes. Barry did as instructed and waited. He felt a very light touch on his bottom and then a couple of seconds later the slipper cracked down. Barry yelped - as much with surprise as with pain because although it hurt it wasn’t as bad as the hairbrush had been. Then it cracked down again and this time Barry made no sound; then once more and again Barry said nothing. Now he was relieved to hear Mr. Simpson telling him to stand up and go back to his class. Barry did so rubbing a little tear from his eye as he stood, but managing to refrain from rubbing his bum until he was out of the Headmaster’s study. As he walked back to his classroom he decided that Jarvis had exaggerated how much the slipper hurt. His bum ached a bit, but nowhere near as badly as it had when his Mum had used the hairbrush. Nevertheless he did find it a bit uncomfortable sitting on a hard seat at school for the rest of that afternoon. And when he changed into his pyjamas before getting into bed that night he looked at his little bum in the mirror and could see some bruises.

That though was history as far as Barry was concerned. What concerned him now was his imminent birthday and what he wanted as a present. That evening little Barry came into the kitchen where his mother was making dinner. He thought this was a good time to tell his mother what he wanted:

“Mum, I want a bike for my birthday.”

“Do you think you deserve a bike for your birthday?” replied Laura.

“Of course I do.” responded Barry.

“Well.” said Laura, “If you think so then you need to reflect on your behaviour over the past year and then write a letter to God and tell him why you deserve to have a bike for your birthday. If God agrees with what you have said then you may be lucky, but it is no good telling lies to God.

Little Barry stomped up the steps to his room and sat down to write God a letter.

LETTER 1:

Dear God,

I have been a very good boy this year and I would like a bike for my birthday. I want a red one.

Your friend, Barry.

Barry knew this wasn't true. He had not been a very good boy this year, so he tore up the letter and started again.

LETTER 2:

Dear God,

This is your friend Barry. I have been a pretty good boy this year, and would like a red bike for my birthday.

Thank you,

Barry.

Barry knew this wasn't true either. He tore up the letter and started again.

LETTER 3:

Dear God,

I have been an OK boy this year and I would really like a red bike for my birthday.

Your friend,

Barry.

Barry knew he could not send this letter to God either. Barry was very upset.

He went downstairs and told his mother he wanted to go to church. Barry's mother thought her plan had worked because Barry looked very sad.

'Just be home in time for dinner,' his mother said.

Barry walked down the street to the church and up to the altar. He looked around to see if anyone was there. He picked up a statue of the Virgin Mary. He slipped it under his shirt and ran out of the church, down the street, into his house, and up to his room.

He shut the door to his room and sat down with a piece of paper and a pen.

Barry began to write his letter to God.

LETTER 4:

God,

I'VE GOT YOUR MUM.

IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN,

SEND THE FUCKING BIKE.

Now Barry might have got away with this had he not then run up against the problem of how to deliver his letter to God. He thought about it for a while and then, after dinner, told his Mum that he wanted to go to church again. He took the letter with him and left it in the place on the altar from which he had taken the statue. Naturally the priest - Fr. Benedict - found the envelope addressed to GOD in childish writing the next time he came to the altar and as God’s servant he opened it. Of course there was only one Barry in the parish so the culprit was easily identified.

That evening Barry found that God does indeed work in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. The Virgin Mary sat on the dressing table and watched with the hint of a smile on her face as Barry’s jeans and underpants came down once again, he was positioned over Laura’s lap and the hairbrush went to work on his little bottom.

But two weeks later on his birthday Barry came downstairs to find in the kitchen a new red bike.

“Dear God - Thank You!” he said.

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