After inhaling too much toxic mold in my basement while cleaning I decided to take a break. I wrote a short story about my professional race career.
I shall tell you a story of how a Childs dream can vanish in the blink of an eye. Worse than Jackie Chan's English, more horrific than Frida Kahlo's unibrow.
This is the story of a traumatic childhood event experienced through the eyes of an innocent yet cute blond hair boy. After many years of abuse by the hands of my domineering parents I vowed never to speak of this event until today my friend.
I was forced at an early tender age of 3 to begin my vigorously training on my Big Wheels Tricycle. From the moment the sun rose to until the late hours after it set and only the stars could be seen from above, I was in constant motion toward one goal; to be the world's greatest tricycle racer. I had little time to eat from my high chair or to watch Elmo. The parental units I came to know as Mom and Dad had strict rules. No chocolate pudding for desert, no G.I. Joe action figures with Kung Fu grips and most importantly no crying over spilt milk.
My career was cut short and my life forever changed in an instant at the pre-kindergarten championship race of 1975. I remember that warm summer day very well. I was peddling the fastest I have ever gone before and was at top of my mental game. A true nirvana moment. I had a commanding lead in first place among a group of 7 toddlers. As I rounded the corner towards the finish line nothing could have prepared me for what unfolded next. Out of nowhere, a spectator named "Timmy" waddled too close to the track and dropped a vanilla ice cream cone on the ground in front of me. I gripped the handles tightly and swerved hard to the right in an attempt to avoid the partially melted ice cream but it was too late. The tricycle hit it and skidded out of control off the parking lot into the sand box. My Trike flipped over a several times before it finally stopped. By the time I realized what happen the race was over and I was knee deep in the sandbox. I could hear my parents scream in horror. "No…!!!" Screamed my father. "Why God? Why?" cried my mother. I saw their round faces turn pale white as they cried out in disappointment. That image would be forever etched into my memory and continuously replayed over again in my head. From that failed moment my parents would not look at me in the same loving way. So I parked my Big Wheels Tricycle in the garage and vowed never to ride again. Now you can understand that the damaged I suffered at an early age has already scarred my chemical synapses beyond repair.
The End
I shall tell you a story of how a Childs dream can vanish in the blink of an eye. Worse than Jackie Chan's English, more horrific than Frida Kahlo's unibrow.
This is the story of a traumatic childhood event experienced through the eyes of an innocent yet cute blond hair boy. After many years of abuse by the hands of my domineering parents I vowed never to speak of this event until today my friend.
I was forced at an early tender age of 3 to begin my vigorously training on my Big Wheels Tricycle. From the moment the sun rose to until the late hours after it set and only the stars could be seen from above, I was in constant motion toward one goal; to be the world's greatest tricycle racer. I had little time to eat from my high chair or to watch Elmo. The parental units I came to know as Mom and Dad had strict rules. No chocolate pudding for desert, no G.I. Joe action figures with Kung Fu grips and most importantly no crying over spilt milk.
My career was cut short and my life forever changed in an instant at the pre-kindergarten championship race of 1975. I remember that warm summer day very well. I was peddling the fastest I have ever gone before and was at top of my mental game. A true nirvana moment. I had a commanding lead in first place among a group of 7 toddlers. As I rounded the corner towards the finish line nothing could have prepared me for what unfolded next. Out of nowhere, a spectator named "Timmy" waddled too close to the track and dropped a vanilla ice cream cone on the ground in front of me. I gripped the handles tightly and swerved hard to the right in an attempt to avoid the partially melted ice cream but it was too late. The tricycle hit it and skidded out of control off the parking lot into the sand box. My Trike flipped over a several times before it finally stopped. By the time I realized what happen the race was over and I was knee deep in the sandbox. I could hear my parents scream in horror. "No…!!!" Screamed my father. "Why God? Why?" cried my mother. I saw their round faces turn pale white as they cried out in disappointment. That image would be forever etched into my memory and continuously replayed over again in my head. From that failed moment my parents would not look at me in the same loving way. So I parked my Big Wheels Tricycle in the garage and vowed never to ride again. Now you can understand that the damaged I suffered at an early age has already scarred my chemical synapses beyond repair.
The End
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