Rider on the vacuum cleaner

In this memory, I am five years old. It is a weekend morning. My mother is vacuuming the floor of our tiny apartment. I am sitting on the floor with my dolls, and my brother is playing with his toy buses.

The sound of the vacuum cleaner is piercing through the rooms, and I can hardly hear anything else. I try to concentrate on my dolls’ conversation and the story that is unfolding among them.

Suddenly, my mother turns off the vacuum clear. The whole air stops vibrating and falls silent.

“Sweetie!” I hear my mother laugh. When I turn around, I find my brother riding the main body of the cleaning device like he does his ride-on car. “You were the reason why I’ve had a hard time pulling the vacuum cleaner!”

When did he come over, I don’t know. But he is all smiley as he sits comfortably on top of the cleaner.

“Now, get off, please!” My mother ushers my brother off the vacuum cleaner. My brother is laughing. From his face only, I can tell that he will do it again.

Sure enough, as soon as my mother goes back to vacuuming with her back to the main device, my brother rides on it again. It is not until my mother tries to pull the device that she realizes my brother is sitting there. This time, she makes sure that my brother will stay away from it by distracting him to do something else.

“Why don’t to play with your buses, Sweetie?”

This has become our common scene ever since my brother discovered the fun of riding the vacuum cleaner.