Fly High… Catch Some Sky
Fly – soar – dream.
Every little boy – and lots of little girls – love to jump bikes and experience that so-tiny moment of flying. The jumps get bigger and bigger as the child gets older. Parents’ hearts sink lower as the bikes fly higher. But we never have the heart to make them stop, because we “get” that feeling of adrenaline flow they’re craving.
We moved to the country when our boys were at the peak of their jumping careers, and they had all the space they needed to create the hills and holes necessary to wreck bikes and skin knees.
The worst accident didn’t happen doing jumps, though. School was only 1/2 mile of country road away (think gravel). In the race to get home first one day, big brother cut little brother off and little brother took a major spill. I’m not sure who suffered more: the brother who caused it, or the one who limped home with a flap of skin hanging from his knee.
This mommy had a hard time with skin flaps and blood and grit ground into wounds. She wasn’t very brave about keeping her eyes open to dab alcohol and wash gaping skin with peroxide. So she called a 9-1-1 to her cousin, the nurse, who rescued the pale and trembling mommy. After the first major operation, the mommy was all brave and cuddled the hurt boy and got him whatever his heart desired. She could even change the bandages, and, looking from the corner of her eyes, make sure the wound was healing and staying clean.
I don’t have the nerve to ask a thirty year old, much less actually look to see, but I believe he has a dip in his leg to this day. It is one incredibly real warrior scar. On a warrior man who earned his wings for bicycle soaring that day.