Mike was a thirteen year old boy who lived in Cape Town with his mother, Penelope. Mike wanted to be a Cyclist, like Lance Armstrong, when he grew up. But his mother wanted him to be a Mechanical Engineer because he was good at working with tools. But Mike didn’t want that.

His mother would tell him that he would get hurt if he was a cyclist but Mike would always say, “I won’t get hurt by something that is not even talking.”

One autumn season it was very wet and slippery in Mike’s village. So Mike asked his mother to go for a ride around the village.

“But Mike, it’s wet outside,” said his mother.

“Please, Mom,” begged Mike.

“Okay, you can go. But please be careful, the road is wet and slippery and you could easily fall,” said his mother.

Mike thought since he won that Silver medal at school it meant he was an experienced cyclist. And I have been riding since I was ten, he thought to himself, and that was three years back.

So he went to his room to prepare himself for today’s ridding session. He put on his shoes and a windbreaker. He fetched his bike it gleamed in the autumn sunshine. He set his stopwatch, mounted the bike and sped away.

Mike was imagining himself as a professional cyclist, racing in the Two Oceans Cycling Race in Cape Town. Mike lost control and the bike went gliding downhill; left bend! Straight! Right bend! Left bend again.

He hit the big rock and went flying high a few metres forward and landed on the wet, muddy grass.

“Ouch,” he exclaimed.

His knee was bleeding seriously.

The pain was really acute that he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from crying. He saw his bike laying there with no tyre so he tried to stand up, and he did. He managed to get his bike to home.

On his way back he was thinking of what he would say to his mother. He carried on and decided to tell his mother the truth. After walking a long mile, Mike arrived home and stopped at the door, thinking. While he was still thinking his mother opened the door.

“Why are you standing outside?” asked his mother.

“I think I’m gonna need a plaster,” said Mike going inside the room.

“But Mike, you don’t want to listen. I told you that you are going to fall. Go to the bathroom.”
Mike’s mother went to the bedroom to fetch the med-kit.

“Mike, come to the bathroom,” called his mother.

“Okay Mom, I’m coming,” replied Mike putting down the tool kit.
His mom cleaned his wound.

“You don’t want to listen,” she said cleaning the wound roughly.

“Ouch Mom,” Mike complained.

“Yes, you got what you deserved,” said his mother.

She finished cleaning the wound and put plaster on him.

“Go to your bedroom and read your books,” she ordered.

Mike went to his bedroom but when he got there he grabbed his tool kit. “To be a cyclist, one doesn’t need to read books or go to school,” he said. He opened his window slowly and jumped out and went to fix his bike.

While he was busy putting on the tyre he cut himself. “OUCH! “He screamed loudly.

“What’s going on?” his mother asked. “Mike, it’s you again. Didn’t I say go to your room and read your books?” asked his mom?

“But Mom, to be a cyclist I don’t need to go to school,” replied Mike putting his finger in his mouth.

“Listen here my boy, while you are still living under my roof you are not going to be a bike rider, cause I’m tired of always taking you to the clinic,” said Penelope twisting Mike’s ear taking him to his bedroom.

“Yhooo Mom! I’m sorry,” said Mike screaming.

His mother closed the door angrily and Mike had learned his autumn lesson.


Tell us: How do your parents punish you?