The Bike Raffle

Last Saturday was child safety day at our city's police station. Community volunteers took Polaroids of my kids and fingerprinted them at the same time as representatives from the local credit union handed me four raffle tickets.

"Write your kids' names and phone numbers on the back of these," a woman told me, "and they could win one of three new bikes." She pointed to three plastic buckets, each of which was labeled with a different age group: 0-3 years, 4-6 years, and 7-12 years.

Since the only things I have ever won from raffles are objects that are also handed out for free at college job fairs (ie mechanical pencils, foam cupholders, and embossed frisbees), I didn't hold my breath. At my kids' insistence, however, I filled out the four raffle tickets and dropped them into the age-appropriate baskets.


Much to my surprise, yesterday morning I received a call from the credit union's branch manager informing me that Cortlen had won one of the bikes. My son overheard the conversation and by the time I got off the phone, he had already rubbed his good fortune into his siblings' faces.

"I'm getting a new bike! I'm getting a new bike!" he yelled jubilantly, dancing around the house.

I had to remind him that what the credit union giveth, the credit union could easily take away if the antics didn't stop.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the credit union for the big ceremony. It was lunch hour, and all seven of the credit union employees had congregated in the lobby with their bagged sandwiches and microwavable Jenny Craig entrees to witness the big event.

"Which one of you is Cortlen?" asked the branch manager, scanning my crew.

Cortlen stepped forward, beaming with excitement and anticipation.

The bank employee registered a momentary expression of surprise before signaling to a man who was standing in the back of the room.

"Bring it out Frank!" she called to her coworker. Cortlen began bouncing up and down in place. Kellen and Camber folded their arms and puckered their lips into thin scowls. Suddenly, with great dramatic flare, the credit union's break room doors swung open to reveal my son's prize.


The minute that I saw the bike, I realized the error was mine. In the chaos of the moment, I had put Cameron's (my 9 month-old) raffle ticket into Cortlen's basket and vice versa.

"The bike might to be a little young for you," the bank manager told Cortlen as the object was rolled in front of him. I didn't hear much of what the lady said after that. I was too busy trying to anticipate what my son was going to say and do when his words finally came to him. I had my hand cupped and ready to cover his mouth, should he choose unwisely.

The deafening silence was broken at last by a jubilant hoot.

"Woo Hoo!" Cortlen shouted in the direction of his siblings as he stuffed himself into the plastic driver's seat. "I have a new bike and you don't!"

Envy is a cruel and sometimes illogical master. At the sight of their brother's new toddler push trike, Camber and Kellen collapsed on the floor.

"I want that bike soooo bad!" they wailed, clinging to one another for support.

"Really?" I asked the poor sports, gesturing to the plastic car. "That's the bicycle of your dreams?"
"Yes!" they sniffled in unison and dried their eyes.

I waited until we were out of the credit union parking lot before telling the sore losers that they would have to wait until next year's raffle for a second chance at happiness.

Until then, they must endure.