I)i h McAd vms
Biking eases life’s problems
My first one was blue.
It had a yellow banana seat, a
sissy bar and ape-hanger handle
bars with pink grips. I scoffed at
training wheels and powder-pink,
girlie bikes with streamers. I was
bom to bike.
I had to share the spray-painted
Schwinn with my numbskull of a
brother, who had started to fulfill
by father’s dream of having a
gearhead for a son. Together, they
dissected the poor Schwinn and
mutated it into a Stingray hog.
When they entered their motor
cycle phase, they forgot about the
bicycle, and me.
I could never compete with my
brother for our dad’s attention.
Jim became a champion
motocross rider. He and my dad
went to races all over the state.
Every year, we had to hunt down
the latest racing bikes that were
winning on the international
circuit. The only mechanic in the
county who could fix the Hodaka
“Super Rat” was an old hippie
biker who ran a combination
boot-shoe-motorcycle repair shop.
Naturally, I wanted to race,
too, but my dad wouldn’t hear of
it. I was a girl, after all, and I
should be kept engaged in girl
activities. I looked at my
mother’s life and saw that girl
activities meant cooking, clean
ing, doing laundry and picking up
the slack for a spouse in his
second adolescence.
I was pretty sure I preferred
racing motorcycles.
My resentment for my family’s
gender expectations grew, and so
did my parents’ disappointment
with my rebellion. The only thing
that didn’t grow was our under
standing of one another. My dad
was preoccupied, my mother was
tired, my brother was high and I
was alone.
Then I discovered the 10
speed.
Balloon tires and fat frames
were gone. They were replaced by
curlicue handle bars and tires the
Naturally, I wanted to race, too, but
my dad wouldn’t hear of it. I was a
girt, after all, and I should be kept
engaged in girl activities. ... I was
pretty sure I preferred racing
motorcycles.
size of garden hose. I had a new
reason to live.
I began a campaign of whin
ing. I could never just come out
and ask my dad for something. He
scared the hell out of me. I would
just sort of grovel and then take
cover when he went into his
“you-kids-act-like-I’m-made-of
money” tirade.
I was not to be deterred. I
pulled out the big guns one day
when he was telling me he
couldn’t afford a bicycle. I asked
him how, then, could he manage
to buy new motorcycles, and
recently, a rash of ’57 Chevies.
The next week, he took me to
the local Coast to Coast and
bought me the 10-speed of my
choice. It was a white, 20-inch
Huffy with toe-clips on the
pedals. I had to tip it over to
touch the ground ... when I
managed to get my feet out of the
toe-clips.
Suddenly, I was free. 1 could
get away from that farm, my
drugged-out brother, my tyranni
cal father and my angry mother.
I’d spend hours riding just to stay
away from home.
Then I got a driver’s license, a
night job and a taste for sloe gin.
I became a hood. At least I tried
to be a hood. I was on the student
government, and I still got good
grades, which made me more of a
quasi-hood.
Quasi-hoodom wasn’t quite
enough to get my father’s atten
tion, but going to jail brought him
around. It also got my license
taken away. I ended up back at
the Coast to Coast and left with a
green, standard, 1-speed bike with
pedal-backward brakes.
Ten years later, I rode the tires
off a Schwinn World Tourist
while I reconciled my divorce. A
black Mt. Shasta Capella was
necessary to exercise my anger
toward my family. My father’s
implication that I must be a
lesbian since I divorced a per
fectly good man called for several
hundred miles.
I had almost forgiven him
when the Capella disappeared
from my front porch. I was sick.
I told my mom what happened
during one of our Sunday phone
conversations. The next week, my
dad got on the phone. We talked
about the damn Republicans and
the com crop. He asked about my
bike, and then he said he’d buy
me a new one.
He hadn’t bought a bicycle for
nearly 25 years, when I got the
white Huffy. I knew he didn’t
realize what he was saying, but it
didn’t matter. My father was
extending an olive branch.
He’d probably never figure out
why I don’t eat meat, watch Billy
Graham or beg my ex-husband to
take me back, but he did seem to
understand I was bom to bike.
That was enough. I didn’t really
expect him to come through, once
he saw the price tags, but I didn’t
mind.
It’s a gold Schwinn Criss
Cross.
McAdams is a junior news-editorial ma
jor and a Daily Nebraskan columnist
Sham I i c kek
God’s been ousted Ions enough
The secularists are on the
march again, seeking to crucify
Speaker-in-waiting Newt
Gingrich over a long-awaited
Constitutional amendment to
protect school prayer.
The amendment, introduced by
Rep. Ernest Istook, Jr., R-Okla.,
has picked up 44 co-sponsors, and
Gingrich has promised to bring it
up to a vote by July 4.
It would seem such an amend
ment would be unnecessary. The
First Amendment clearly states
that government cannot interfere
with an individual’s right to
worship. However, modern lingo
dictates that secular must be anti
religious, consequently placing
Christian public school children
on the chopping block.
Allow me to give a few
examples cited by Paul Greenburg
of the Los Angeles Times Syndi
cate:
• Ten-year-old Raymond
Raines bowed his head to say a
silent prayer over lunch in his St.
Louis public school cafeteria. For
his subversive activity, little
Raymond was placed in detention
for a week and told that if he
wished to pray over his meal, he
must eat in a room by himself.
• Thirty Texas high school
students came face to face with
secular America as they gathered
to pray at the flagpole before
school one morning. The prin
ciple dispersed the group and told
them if they wanted to pray, they
would have to do so in private.
• A high school principle in
Illinois used the police to dismiss
a similar gathering. Two students
were arrested.
Contrary to popular opinion,
these were not the intentions of
our founding fathers who sought
to construct a “wall of separation”
between the state and religion.
Clearly our founding fathers, even a
deist like Jefferson, sought to preserve
the religious traditions of our great
country rather than see them
sacrificed to the almighty altar of
‘pluralism ” and “diversity. ”
They sought to restrict federal
and not state authority on reli
gious matters. To protect reli
gious freedom, not provide for its
senseless persecution.
In fact, Jefferson and Madison
introduced a bill for the punish
ment of Sabbath breakers that
became Virginia law in 1786.
As President, Jefferson built
churches and established missions
with federal money for the
purpose of bringing the Gospel to
Native Americans.
Clearly our founding fathers,
even a deist like Jefferson, sought
to preserve the religious traditions
of our great country rather than
see them sacrificed to the al
mighty altar of “pluralism” and
“diversity.”
So if the Constitution protects
it, and the framers of our Consti
tution wanted it, why is religion
increasingly under attack?
Much of the blame lies on the
Supreme Court, and in particular,
the Warren Court. As New Deal
aficionados, the Court time and
time again has disregarded the
Constitutional restrictions placed
upon it: “The powers not del
egated to the United States by the
Constitution, nor prohibited by it
to the States, are reserved to the
States respectively, or to the
people.”
Consequently, the Warren
Court has removed prayer from
public life, and the enforcers of
public policy have revived the
inquisition, with humanist
intentions this time around.
On the flip-side, however, if
the states take up the torch of
religious responsibility, granted
to them by our Constitution, what
will become of the secularists, the
agnostics, the atheists, the
humanists?
Doctrinal differences between
various God-fearing religions,
another possible obstacle to the
amendment, can also easily be
hashed out.
For example, in 1962, clergy
of various religions in New York
City formulated the following
school prayer: “Almighty God,
we acknowledge our dependence
upon Thee and we beg Thy
blessings upon us, our parents,
our teachers and our country.*’
It would be prudent, then, for
Congress to bring this protection
of school prayer to a vote and for
the states to quickly ratify the
amendment. Anything less would
be an affront to the Constitution,
the ideals of its framers, and the -
heart and soul of American
tradition.
Religion was American long
before baseball, and God doesn’t
go on strike.
Tucker b a senior biology major and a
Dally Nebraskan columnist
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