it comes in pints?

Four Pictures and a Story

Well, there's a fifth picture to go with the story.

I've been sorting family pictures again, and once again I'm in a sentimental mood so I'm going to post some more family pictures. This will include a self-portrait and story about myself which may explain a lot.

But first, the family pictures:

That's my parents' wedding. Auntie is the Matron of Honor, next to Mom.

Mom and Dad, after they got hitched.

Mom in her younger years, with Injun Joe (yes, we actually had an Injun Joe out at the ranch). I remember him from when I was very little. Years later, I asked Mom if he was still around and she replied, "I suppose he is, if someone hasn't killed him yet."

Heh.

My Grandpa (left) with Louie and Doc. I don't know Louie but he may still be around, the pic is from 1955. I (barely) remember Doc.

And now for the story. This requires a little bit of setup.

We lived in San Bernardino, in a working class neighborhood in the north end. For much of my youth, we were not actually in the city limits and, except for our little neighborhood (two long blocks by two short ones), the area was undeveloped. There was a lot of area for us to ride bikes and play and such.

Behind the neighborhood, there was a small ridge of hills (Shandin Hills, for which my Jr. High school was named) and the tallest was Little Mountain (for which a road was named), with lots of really cool places to play, ride, and explore. We rode our bikes through, up, and down the hills. One particular road was really cool. It was very steep, with a really good curve to ride around while flying down the hill on our bikes. The bad part, which we, as kids, did not consider, was that it was wide enough for a car.

So one day I was riding down it on my bike. I rounded the cool curve and came face to face with a VW bug coming uphill. Well, I was at least bright enough to realize that a head-on with anything heavier than my bike was bad news so I swerved left.

To this left was a small ledge. This was only about four feet high, and in my youthful exhuberance I assumed that if I could only "pop a wheelie" and land on my bike's tires I would be fine. Nice plan, poor execution. I did not pop the intended wheelie, my front tire dipped precipitously as I went over the ledge, and I landed on my face with the bike on top of me.

The guy driving the VW drove me home. Mom got me all cleaned up and scabbed over, then stood me up in front of the house and took pictures. Sent those pictures off to all the relatives with a note that said, in effect, "Look what my dumb kid did."

Years later, I mentioned to her how traunatized I was by that and she replied, "Well, if that's the worst thing I ever did to you, count your blessings."

I love you too, Mom ;)

Aftermath here:

Posted by Ken S at September 18, 2007 07:54 PM | TrackBack (0) |