The giver

Twelve (19)

Finally it was the morning of the Ceremony of twelve

Now father sat beside mother in the audience, I could see them applauding dutifully as the nines one by one received their bicycles each with its gleaming name tag attached to the back from the stage.

I remember how happy I was to receive my bicycle also Fritz who lived in the dwelling next door, received his bike and almost immediately bumped into the podium with it.

Fritz was a very awkward child who had been summoned for chastisement again and again. His transgressions were small ones, always shoes on the wrong feet, schoolwork misplaced, failure to study adequately for a quiz.

But each such error reflected negatively on his parents guidance and infringed on the community sense of order and success.

My family had not been looking forward to Fritz bicycle which they realized would probably too often be dropped on the front walk instead of wheeled neatly into its port.

Finally the Nines were all resettled in their seats each having wheeled a bicycle outside, where it be waiting for its owner at the end of the day.

Everyone always chuckled and made small jokes when the Nines rode home for the first time
"Want me to show you how to ride?"
Older friends would call
"I know you never been on a bike before!"

But invariably the grinning Nines, who in technical violation of the rule had been practicing secretly for weeks, would mount and ride off in perfect balance, training wheels never touching the ground.

Then the Tens, I never found the Ceremony of Ten particularly interesting, only time consuming as each child hair was snipped neatly into its distinguishing cut: females lost their braids and males too relinquished their long childish hair and took on the more manly short style which exposed their ears.

Laborers moved quickly to the stage with brooms and swept away the mounds of discarded hair, I could see the parent's of the new tens stir and murmur and I knew that this evening, in many dwellings they would be snipping and straightening the hastily done haircuts, trimming them into a neater line.

Elevens seemed a short time ago that I had undergone the Ceremony of Eleven, but I remember that it was not one of the more interesting ones. By Eleven one was waiting to be Twelve. It simply a marking of time with no meaning changes.

There was new clothing; different undergarments for females and longer trousers for the males with a specially shaped pocket for the small calculator that they would use this year in school; but those were simply presented in wrapped packages without an an accompanying speech.