Today, I fell on a bike for the first time. Face first, through shrubs and rocks, with no helmets nor pads. And while two of my younger cousins frantically tried to help me back up, I laughed at how they looked with horror and tension, and they laughed at how I looked with twigs and leaves. It was fun, really, mostly because I knew then that in the presence of these people, I was allowed to laugh at my mistakes, and I never knew how good that felt until now.
My ten year old (David) and eleven year old (Steve) cousins took me to the “secret” dunes of Steve’s village earlier. He told me the dunes were built by teenagers who “just wanted every kid to have a good time on wheels.” I chuckled at the thought that I’m on last of my teenage years, and yet I never had this sort of childhood I never envied until now.
On scooters, David and I raced. And like any good elder cousin would do, I did a head start before letting him take the lead in the end. The thing with scooters is that you do most of the work, and when you feel you’ve done enough, you let go and let things happen. Of course, how much things happen will always depend on how far you’ve pushed - something I’ve never thought of until now.