How To Age Your Mom Before Her Time
I was just a normal little boy, happy, fun loving, always erring on the good side of life. So, why did my mother say that I aged her before her time? What did I do?
Maybe it was because of my little incident on my tricycle one beautiful summer day. There was so much fun to be had zooming down the sloping sidewalk in front of our house. I suppose that was when I first learned about sidewalk maintenance issues facing most towns or cities. Well, it was a great day as I zoomed ever faster down the slope with the wind gently caressing my face, with arms held out straight, no hands, and paddling like a demon. As I flew through the air in a milli-second, I landed ungracefully upon my tiny chin hurtling in circles before coming to a rest. So, who put that stupid hole in the sidewalk? Those memories are still vivid to this day while stretched unceremoniously upon the kitchen table being stitched by our local doctor. Could that have been what mom meant?
Or, maybe it was that time at the end of the school year that I was cycling down the town hill merrily on my way to the school picnic. Who needs hands on the handle bars? Who needs to worry about zipping through the only cross road in town? There was never anybody traveling along my road, interrupting the pleasure of the moment, or placing their car in my path. What a piece of work that guy was for sticking his passenger door right in front of my front wheel in order to abruptly stop my momentum. Hum. How does one end up on that cold, unforgiving pavement anyway? So what that he screeched to a stop and picked me up showing shock and concern at the same time. I didn’t ask him to use the road when I needed to fly through the intersection. So, who told him to follow me home and tell my mother that he hit her little boy?
On the other hand, maybe it was that time when I innocently bounded up the centre hall stairs turning my swift little legs to maneuver around the landing on my way to my bedroom retreat to play. I can’t help it if somebody left the step ladder there so it conveniently came crashing down on my head leaving me permanently scarred with an extra hole in my head. I think there must have been a conspiracy to get me.
It really wasn’t my fault that I missed three months of school laying in a special bed set up in our living room. Big deal; anyone can get pneumonia that requires their mother to bring them that dreaded consommé soup, or glasses of water, or mustard plasters twice a day. I wasn’t about to give up the ghost hacking and coughing, sweating with fever, and unable to move a muscle because of weakness. So, what was all the fuss about?
Mom, are you sure you just didn’t make it all up? I didn’t do anything; I was just a normal, fun loving, good little boy, right?.
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Tags: age, boy, fuss, good, incident, loving, mother
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