Growing Up Eighties, Games 2

Another favorite game was Riding Horses. To play Riding Horses, you need a bike (preferably one without training wheels as the extra wheels made it difficult for others to imagine your bike as a horse. Duh), a name for your horse and a stable (garages, front porches and shade can qualify as stables, as long as you have your own).
To start the game, you need at least one other person. If you play this game by yourself you immediately subject yourself to ridicule and a lifetime a nicknames that will haunt you until your dying day. Once you have another person, start Riding Horses. For purposes of remaining superior, you CAN change the name of your horse in the middle of the game but only if someone else has a better name and you want to one up them. The game ends when Mom calls you in for dinner. When Mom calls you in for dinner, it is proper Riding Horses etiquette to ask if everyone playing can stay for dinner.
I remember, before I was comfortable riding without training wheels, my Dad running next to my training wheel-less bike (purple, with a unicorn on the bars and banana seat) attempting to coach me into freedom. Back and forth on the road we practiced for hours. I was terrified.
In the garage, unbeknownst to anyone, Chuckie grabbed a wrench and proceeded to detach his training wheels. Did I mention that he was nearly four years younger than me? He wasn’t afraid. He was ready to ride.
We were in front of the house, Mom on the porch, Dad running behind me on the bike, when Chuckie passed me, announcing with his speech impediment that he taken the Twaining Wheews off his bike. How? Wid a Wench.