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⚒ ★ Username: Ivytea⚒ ★ Name: Cooper⚒ ★ Gender: Male⬤ A ⬤ A ⬤ A ⬤ A ⬤ A ⬤
⚒ ★ What is their favorite memory?:
Some children like to play with toy trains and cars. Others like to play with dolls, brushing their hair and giving them love. However, there is a certain element that just adore taking things apart and putting them back together again. You may be thinking -- what a strange interest for a child to have! -- but, thus is the life of Cooper.
Cooper's a bit of a strange child, and always has been. That's not a bad thing, of course -- his uniqueness makes him stand out from the general herd. He's always had a fondness for fixing, crafting, and using his hands. Those hands, he knew, would go on into a lifetime of helping not only himself, but others in their daily lives. Whether they held a hammer or not was up to his own choice.
Perhaps it started when he broke his first toy. It was a rusty little bike, perfect for a small kit like himself to enjoy. That bike used to be red, Cooper's favorite color, but had aged quite disdainfully, turning more rust-orange with every passing day. He'd received that very bike as a birthday present, and took it with him almost everywhere. Like all things, it eventually broke, sputtering into quite a sizable amount of pieces.
Much to his parents' dislike, he spent hours upon hours a day attempting to fix that very bike. It started off simple -- "can I have some glue?" He'd ask, folding a shiny golden lock behind one of his ears. To Cooper's disdain, that glue was too melt-able for the steamy summer days of their neighborhood. That then transformed into "can I have some tape?" Oh, right, some simple clear tape. Surely Cooper wouldn't have meant heavy-duty packaging tape, correct? Nope. Every single run to the grocery store was a packing tape spree. It worked for a little bit, you see -- the dearest boy had wrapped at least 3 rolls of it around the middle stem of the bike, and, though it was stiff, it worked. One day, however, it split right down the middle in two again, shoving the now-riddled tape to the edge of the sidewalk -- Cooper with it, at that! And so, it was back to the drawing board.
A teacher at school, whom Cooper confided in quite often, suggested incorporating twigs and other pieces of raw nature into his project. Cooper, at first, was utterly shocked -- how could something as weak as sticks and mud compare to actual, you know -- "fixing" materials? But then, thanks to both that teacher and a burst of anticipation, he got to it.
Sticks, mud, grass, hay -- almost everything that one could think of was on his supply list. As a gift for his troubles, his parents bestowed upon him a small hammer to help, as well.
That hammer was something that Cooper truly loved. It signified his desire to fix his tattered bike, and gave him enough independence to continue with this brilliant project. It was child-safe, of course, but the very thought of him securing his calloused hands around that brushed iron forced adrenaline through his veins.
The next morning, Cooper awoke in excitement to begin his newer plan. He hopped out of bed, brushed his teeth rather quickly, and flew down the stairs. His parents, bewildered to where all of this sudden energy arose from, exchanged a puzzled look between each other. Cooper grabbed his hammer, his bamboo sack full of earth, and made his spot in the garage.
The bike, broken in two still, was fastened in one hand, hammer in the other. Every couple of moments, a chunk of earth would be added to the wound -- mud, merging the two pieces together, and grass, to add support. He wrapped some flexible twigs around the base, fitting it circularly up and over to the top, to force them to be one. His hands, completely hardened with work and sweat, wiped some dirt off of his small face occasionally. It was difficult, of course, especially for a young child like Cooper at the time. However, deep in his heart, Cooper needed and wanted to not only fix his bike, but to prove to himself that he could do it.
His brother Crow had come out to the garage with him at one point, holding a cold glass of honey lemonade, stunned to see his simple sibling so jarringly focused. He set the beverage on a surrounding shelf, puzzled, as Cooper didn't even bother to address his presence.
The project was almost complete, and Cooper could feel it. To his shock, the bike actually was staying in place, held together by the mud and twigs. He hammered on it for good measure, although it probably didn't help very much, and set it outside to dry for the night. He slept restlessly that evening, eager to show his family his creation.
The time had finally come, and Cooper called everyone out of the house for a family meeting. His face, redding further and further by the second, couldn't get any more nervous. He held the bike, spun the wheels eagerly, and placed it firmly on the pavement. All eyes were on him.
Cooper whirred the bike to life, flinging his hind legs onto the pedals, and sped down the driveway. It felt even better than it had before it had broken, despite sustaining significant damage. Hearing the noise of his family clapping from behind him, his grin widened and encompassed his entire face. The joy he felt in that moment was exhilarating, and -- quite honestly -- was probably his most favorite memory of all time. When he returned, his parents -- as well as Crow -- enveloped him in a warm, proud hug, so incredibly in awe of what he'd done. Cooper could barely let go of that bike for the rest of the summer, still thinking about himself relishing in that limelight so long ago. [982 words]
(Art by me)⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒ ✧ ⚒