My first car versus human experience occurred at the hands of my grandmother (my mother’s mother), whom I affectionately referred to as my “grandmother the ninja”. Somewhere between the age of nine and ten, I was riding my bike up and down the street pretending I was Evil Knievel. I was giddy with excitement because my grandmother was coming over and what child doesn’t want to see his grandmother? Plus mine was a ninja.
I’m sitting on my bicycle in front of my parent’s house, which sometimes resembled a rockin’ poppin’ rock and roll stadium of chaotic parties. It just so happens on this day it wasn’t that way, but actually empty of anyone except myself. (That’s right – no adult supervision – at least prior to the arrival of the ninja.) So, here comes the big old Caddy coming around the corner and there I sit on my bike in front of the house waiting. Here comes my ninja grandmother in her big old Caddy and the next thing I know I’m on the hood with my bicycle under the front end.
So, here is the lesson I’ve learned and the everlasting memory that the classroom I call life provided. My grandmother got out of her vehicle, and promptly told me stop playing around, and get off of the hood of the car. Wait a second…. I’m the one who was just hit and it’s my fault. What was wrong with this picture? So, I pull myself off of the hood of the car after looking at the splattered bugs on the windshield, pull my bicycle out from under the car, and sit down on the front porch wondering what the hell just happened.
After about thirty minutes of sitting on the porch in disbelief I go back inside the house and the hobo coffee is brewing and the real lessons of life begin. I miss both of my grandmothers and I am grateful I had the chance to spend time with them. Plus, how else would I have so many stories to write about? They only get better.
See you in the next post!