It’s been too long since I posted here. My life lately has been a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and no good focus. What would I write? I was sitting at my desk, gazing out of the window, seeing a couple of small children going by on little bikes. They are new to the neighborhood, and enliven the street no end. We are mostly old fogies here, providing an occasional grandchild toddling beside grandpa, but active young’uns such as these have been scarce. As they whizzed by, I noted that they were properly wearing helmets, which were clearly not only safety precautions but fashion statements: hers was a princess pink, his a spaceman silver.
I went back in thought to my own childhood, when I was carefree, helmetless—and lucky, as was my younger brother. He it was who was sledding in the middle of a (quiet) street, caught the sled runner on a manhole cover, fell and broke his collarbone. He was able to get up and come home. He suffered only the wearing of a contraption on his shoulder while healing took place.
As for me, my bicycle was being a horse one day. This might have been a good pretense, if I had not decided to add a bit of realism by tying twine reins to the handlebars and steering with that. My steed and I were flying, or galloping, down the street when the front wheel hit a pebble. The twine was jerked from my grasp as the wheel twisted, over went the bike, and I landed in a heap. I got up shaken but undamaged, wheeled the bike home,
and admitted only to falling off. The twine remained a secret between me and my “horse”, which turned back into a bike PDQ.
So even though we chanced not to be seriously hurt, I am glad these youngsters are helmeted—and glad they came by to stir up memories.