I was talking to my mom the other day while typing the “I can’t fly” story and she was bringing up other humorous stories from my past. Some of the stories I had forgotten about some I haven’t gotten around to writing. That brings me to the story for today.
I was raised in a single parent home my mom and dad divorced at very young age. To be completely honest I don’t ever remember them living together. I was probably 12 or 13 years old and was visiting my dad. I went to see him every other weekend and this weekend was going to be a good one. I was at his house and he had just finished fixing my bicycle and Boy was I happy. I was going to spend all waking hours riding around the neighborhood which I had done so many time before.
I get my bike out and ride down the driveway and it is great. So I start down the road everything is going great. It is a beautiful spring day, I am young and when I had my bike I was a free person nothing in the world could stop me.
Down the street there is a man painting his mailbox, he is out enjoying the day also. I am getting closer to him and I have a big smile on my face. All of the sudden the chain falls off of the sprocket, my back tire locks up. I do all that I can not to fall off of the bike. The bike started to lean-to the right and I am going down. This is going to be embarrassing that guy who is painting his mailbox is going to see me. He is going to laugh at me, I know it.
As the bike hits the ground I go flying but I never hit the hard concrete. I am surprised it is the first time that I wrecked my bike and it not hurt at least a little. Then I realize why my fall didn’t hurt, I landed on something. What could I have landed on that was soft the only thing around was concrete and the guy paint his mailbox.
It all starts to clear up as someone is helping me up. He is asking me if I am ok. I realize the soft landing I had received was The Man Painting The Mailbox. I ran him over in my attempt not to fall.
I am even more embarrassed now. I took this really nice guy out. He helped me up, and asked, “Are you ok?”
“Yes” I am in shock.
“I will grab your bike for you, are you sure that you are ok?”
“Yeah, I am fine” that was my answer but I was hurting.
He grabbed my bike and handed it back to me, “be careful you could have hurt yourself.”
If he only knew the pain I was in. I said, “I am sorry”
“That is ok”
I grab my bike and push it back to my dad’s house. I learned from that day forward not to let my dad work on my bike. From that day forward every time I passed that man while riding my bike I would wave and he would say, “Looking Good”