The weather has changed. We're on the upswing. It's been perfect weather for my son to finally be able to use the bicycle he got for Easter. Because the bike has stunt pegs on both wheels, he's been pretty psyched to ride it. And ever since the sun came out, he's been right out there buzzing up and down the road. As of yet though, his stunts haven't gotten too dangerous. His confidence isn't where it needs to be to try those kinds of stunts. Right now, he's testing himself with the easy ones; taking his feet off the pedals while coasting down the hill or placing his feet on the front wheel pegs. Although I realize as his confidence increases, so will his daring, so I'm keeping a watch on him. I just hope his bravery doesn't get him into trouble, like mine did when I was younger.

I was around thirteen when my brother got his first ten speed. I was so jealous. All I had was a pink banana bike with pink tassels and pink fenders. After seeing his, mine seemed babyish and wayyyy too pink. I begged my mother to let me ride his, but that was a big no-go; she insisted it was too big for me and that I'd hurt myself on it. I couldn't get the thought of riding the big bike out of my head, though. And as everyone knows the result of being denied something is that you want it even more.

One afternoon, after checking to make sure nobody was watching, I made the decision to ride my brother's bike, despite the fact that it was direct disobedience and that I'd probably get into deep doo-doo if I got caught. Although I hated to admit it, my mother had been right. The ten speed was too big for me, but that made me even more determined to ride it. It was taller than me by about two inches and the only thing I could do was angle it down so that it leaned in towards me, that way I could throw my leg over it and straddle it. I positioned one pedal upward so that when I pushed down on it, I would gain momentum and start cruising. I had to jump a bit to place myself on the edge of the seat, but it was just enough so that the front of my feet were touching the pedals. The next thing I knew I was flying down the road on my brother's bike and it was like I was flying. The risk had definitely been worth it.

But, like all things that we know we aren't supposed to do, fate seems to take hold and remind us that all risks come with consequences. Because my body wasn't long enough to really reach the pedals and the brakes on the handlebars, I was unable to control the bike. After taking the corner of our road too fast, I hit the soft sand on the side and started to skid out. I tried reaching for the brakes and clutched it too quickly. I went flying off the bike and slammed into the tar as the bike flew out from underneath me. I had road rash all along the front of my legs and my elbows were dripping blood. When I finally got up to check my brother's bike, I was relieved to see that it had landed in the grass and was in better shape than I. I walked the bike back up the road and saw my mother waiting for me on the steps.

"Told you you'd get hurt on it."

Guess that's what you get for being brave. I'm going to have to share this story with my son, but I doubt it'll matter, because kids never listen to their mothers, do they?