Schwinn-ing

On June 14th, 1972, I'm sure my day started out like any other girl's day would have. The calendar hanging by the wall phone in the kitchen told me it was Flag Day, but for an eight year old, unless there are presents, a day off from school, or a special family meal planned, it wasn't a real holiday.

My paternal grandparents had stopped by for a visit that afternoon, so in many ways the day was a special one, for they lived over an hour away.  I don't remember why, but my pap-pa wanted to go for a bicycle ride, which I thought was rather odd.  A grandpa on a bicycle?!  He was at least 60 years old!  Being pap-pa's girl, I decided I wanted to go, too.

What happened after we left our driveway is sketchy, but I do remember trying to keep up with him on my older sister's blue Schwinn...pedaling and swerving on unrelenting gravel.  My next memory was waking up on the scratchy green shag carpet in our living room, wondering why everyone was looking at me!  The right side of my face was burning, and I couldn't see very well.  Was that my mom peeking around the corner?  "Mommy...Mommy..." I cried out for her, but she disappeared.  Why didn't she come back?  Luckily, my sister Renita was there to comfort and console.

I was rushed in our Impala to our family doctor and received stitches above my right eye.  I wanted to go home, but the doctor suggested x-rays at the county hospital.  So I endured another car ride and pain as I lie on a cold metal table to make sure nothing was broken.  Bandaged and bruised, I finally arrived home.  Restless nights, countless bandage changes and ointments, I thought my summer was ruined! (My mom was concerned my face was "ruined.")  Weeks went by, the bandages came off, I endured and healed, and even rode a bike again...all before I entered third grade in August.

On Flag Day, on every June 14th, I can't help but recall "my bicycle accident."  I can barely see the scars on my right knee and right side of my face, as age and wrinkles have become life's best concealer. But I know they're still there.

Looking back as an adult on my bike wreck, I'm grateful for the experience as it has been life-lesson material for me and many others I've shared the story with. Like any traumatic experience, the pain and the memories do not completely go away. 

We may be able to offer forgiveness to someone who has hurt us deeply and eventually pedal on through life, but we may never be able to forget the pain. True, I could have stayed behind and not ventured out with pap-pa that day.  And there are other gravel situations in life that could have and should have been avoided.  But I realize now that without them, I would not appreciate the good, the smooth, and the paved times in my life.

I'm Schwinn-ing today, much like I was 41 years ago...ready to take on pavement or gravel, possible pain and scars, uphill or downhill, as I continue on this ride.