Ugh, I hate these kinds of posts. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you why. Because I really don’t remember much. I have a horrible memory. Which sucks sometimes, but it’s good because it makes it easy to forgive and forget. I remember I was hurt or upset but I won’t remember why. If you cant remember why, then why be upset later, right?
Ok, enough rambling.
So a story from my childhood. I remember I used to ride bikes. All the time. With Heather (my bff from 2nd to 4th grade, until she moved) and Chris. Sometimes Melissa or Billy. And another girl, I don’t remember her name, but her dad died from an aneurysm in 2nd grade (that was hard on all of us, I can’t imagine what it was like for us.)
Anyway, we lived in the desert of SoCal, with man made hills. One specifically, we called Bike Hill. Oh Lord yall. The best part about it, the top was flat – and wide, you could get so much speed and go down one slope… Where some kids before us had created a lovely ramp that would vault you (what seemed like) 20 feet in the air. Reality, it was probably like 5 feet, but when your 4 foot tall… Over and over we would ramp that thing. Flying through the air, landing hard (and hopefully keeping control!). Whew! And if I ever heard of my children doing that stuff… Scratch that, I don’t want to know.