Throwback to Yesteryear!

Normally, I don't repeat myself between my blog and Sweet Tunes Friday. However, due to an unusually positive response to my Sweet Tunes Friday last week, I am going to post here what I sent out last week on STF. Thanks to all my Sweet Tuners and their positive comments.

Heroes

Like most boys, I often found myself in situations that caused myself physical pain. More often than not, I could always jump up, shake it off and get on with my day. Many times the location of my situations was in my own backyard. In my early years, we had an enormous apple tree in our backyard. The tree was home to a tire swing that me and my older brother would do our best to see who could get the highest and of course jump out as far as we could. In addition to the swing, we had a tree house. As you climbed the tree, the main floor was on the south side and then higher and to the left, was a second floor. We were always warned to be careful when we were climbing into the tree. But boys will be boys and of course we would mess around, climb higher than we should, play games, etc. You know be adventurous. Sometimes stretching out to see what was in the bird’s nests you could lose your footing and tumble out of the tree to the unforgiving ground below.

Not only was there a tree, but we had a yard big enough to ride a motorcycle on. Let’s be fair, it wasn’t huge and when you are 8 years-old and your motorcycle is a Honda Trail 90, you can ride it on a narrow stretch of land. One particular Sunday afternoon, I was riding on the Trail 90 with my older brother. You all know how older brothers are, so when I say “riding on” that’s exactly what it was. I was just riding and he was driving, never giving me the chance to drive. Well, we had driven in circle in the back yard for probably an hour. At this point I was pleading: “Just let me drive”, “Come on just one lap” “Can I drive PPLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” The usual reply was: “Shut up and hold on.” Which of course I did, well Hold on is what I did, “shut up” I did not. We continued riding in circles and my brother discovered that as you drive through the dips in the yard, and you pop the clutch, it would help your front end to come up and you could get better ride a “wheelie”. (I am certain having a brother riding on the back contributed to this as well.) As we were riding through the yard, me pleading to drive, my brother popping the clutch while going through the ditch, tragedy struck. We wheelie’d up and over. The Honda landing on, the little brother. At first it didn’t seem like a big deal, but as my brother picked up the Honda to get it off me, I screamed out in pain. Looking down, I could see that the peg where my left foot had previously rested was now only partially there. Paul lifted the bike straight up off me as I quickly hurried out of the way. As I looked down, my once white sock was now stained a bright crimson color. Upon seeing the blood I did what all other 8 year-olds do. I Screamed Bloody Murder. I was certain that I was going to bleed out and die right there in my parents yard.

Paul tried to quiet me, he was positive that if my parents saw the blood our motorcycle riding would be done for the day. And well he probably imagined that it would be done forever. Within moments both of my parents were at my side. My dad looked down and could see the red sock, and he pulled it down so he could better examine the gash in my leg. He took a quick look and assessed that it in fact needed stitches. My dad reached down and scooped me up into his arms as my mother ran into the house after the truck keys. He loaded me into the spot next to him on the bench seat. The drive to the emergency room was pretty uneventful as my dad helped me to maintain my composure and stop my crying. Upon arriving at the emergency room once again my dad picked me up and carried me into the hospital and laid me flat on a gurney, where the doctor would give me a shot followed by 8 stitches.

It has only been the last couple of years that my scar has healed up enough so that you can’t really even see it anymore. But I can look down and immediately see right where it was. I guess many people might not look back at this as a good memory, but I do. That day as my father took me into his arms and helped to care for me, I knew he was my hero. He made certain that I was taken care of and that I was going to be safe.

In addition to the story, I included the song "Heroes" by David Bowie. Which is where the title to the story comes from. I hope all of you have heroes in your life that you can look up to and know that they are someone you can always count on.