American and French Healthcare System vs

Alexa Sanchez

Mark Hyer

English 60: T/Thurs-7:30 a.m.

September 19, 2013

Body Paragraph

I can still remember it as if it happened yesterday. I must have been five or six years old when I rode my first bicycle, and the day I learned to ride my bike is very memorable to me. Learning how to ride a bicycle can be exciting as well as painful. But I found it really exciting indeed. I was starting to realize that all of the other kids were riding two-wheelers, and I was the only one still riding a small bike with those ridiculous training wheels. I felt that it was time for me to make a transition from training wheels to a “big kid” bike. It was my sister who taught me how to ride a bicycle “The training wheels are coming off today” was the first thing she said at the breakfast table. Mom just finished a batch of her secret ingredient blue berry pancakes with butter on top. Walking outside on a Friday morning, I can remember how sunny it was and how there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was a bright warm day and the perfect summer day.  Everyone seemed to be enjoying the afternoon.

She and I went to the park to see what we could do there. There was nobody in the park when we arrived. My sister brought her bicycle and told me to sit on it and place my feet on the pedals. The bike was a purple, white seated two wheeler that had a basket in the front. The event stuck in my head because it was the first thing I can remember my sister and I doing together. “Pedal slowly!” she warned me while she held the bicycle and ran slowly along. The road on which I was learning was smooth. My sister was holding the rear of the seat to make sure I wouldn’t fall. She assured me that I was not going to fall because she would be running right behind, holding the bicycle. She relieved me by saying that it was the word of a sister and I could trust it. “You’re going to do great!” she said. My sister was kind. She spent several hours trying to teach me how to ride. She did...