Our country is at war. Terrorism is running rampant. Tension across the globe is more rigid than ever. Thus, I have opted to abandon my previous attempts to “be way college” by writing something witty or clever about the psychographics of PSU students at frat parties. No…I have decided to utilize my position of power as writer to the masses to address a much more global and serious concern of everyday life—something that touches each of us personally and profoundly: little kids falling off bicycles.
It’s happening everywhere. Perhaps on your very street back home, one of the Anderson twins has just hit an uneven patch of sidewalk, plummeting to his demise. Or, maybe some small Asian boy on the streets of Thailand has just unexpectedly popped a tire, falling and spilling his basket of oranges and assorted fruits across the agora. Or even, perhaps a young circus girl has just lodged her unicycle in a still-steamy plot of elephant fisces, and at this very moment is slowly and tortuously tipping over toward the ground.
Farts in public places. Spit bubbles. Even a good ol’ fashioned tea bagging. Each of these popularly humorous events have been rendered “average” in my twisted mind when compared to the endless hilarity of an unsuspecting 8-year-old being hurled over his handlebars upon the moment of impact between his front tire and a stray pebble.
Now, before you all vindictively accuse me of being rude, mean-spirited, or just plain creepy—hear me out. The initial act of bicycle fault hood is not even remotely as humorous as the reaction of the child’s mother soon to follow. (OK, I lied…it’s still funnier…bet let’s discuss).
As if Jose wasn’t embarrassed enough by being publicly undermined by a stray plastic bag enwrapped in the spokes of his wheels, his mom frantically sprinting out the door of the house with a bottle of antiseptic and frenetically screaming at him in Mexican only makes things worse! (read: awesom-er).
My favorite type of youth bicycle spill? I’m glad you asked. I like to call it the “WTF are you doing, don’t stop pedaling yet!”. Little Tommy is wobbly traveling at speeds known only to 3 legged turtles when he hears his name chimed from across the street by Nancy Sue…who happens to be showing quite a bit of leg today. In an outward inability to multitask, Tommy immediately looks over, while inadvertently stopping his pedal motion altogether. Of course, he quickly realizes his error, but his prepubescent legs cannot reach the ground below his towering 10-speed Huffy. It is a slow and painful crash, as the bike loses balance and tips over ever-so slowly; as if to give Tommy just enough time to concoct his most jaw-dropped expression of pure terror. This type of crash (Bicicleus Tippeus) most often results in just a few hand scrapes and knee bruises. Yet, one part of Tommy has been injured far beyond repair. His pride. Sweet.
You too may have a list of your favorite ways to watch children fall of bikes. I surely do, but alas, my space here is limited. Do your part to ensure this rare, yet precious art form does not dwindle in occurrence. As for me, I shall carry on to do mine—as I continue emptying bags of Skittles onto cul-de-sacs of Razor-scootering 4th graders across the nation. The joy of watching each spill is simply magnificent…dare I say sexual? Nah, magnificent. Don’t be a perv.
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Our country is at war. Terrorism is running rampant. Tension across the globe is more rigid than ever. Thus, I have opted to abandon my previous attempts to “be way college” by writing something witty or clever about the psychographics of PSU students at frat parties. No…I have decided to utilize my position of power as writer to the masses to address a much more global and serious concern of everyday life—something that touches each of us personally and profoundly: little kids falling off bicycles.
