My Hometown

My Hometown

Bicycle Freedom

The bell rings loudly and as I wait in the line of cars to pick my daughter up at school, I watch the other waiting parents sit up in their seats and grip their steering wheels in anticipation.

Today’s bell doesn’t just end another day, it’s the final bell of the year and the clear definition that summer has officially arrived.

The doors swing open and the kids come rushing out as fast as their legs will take them.

I can only imagine what those last five minutes of class looked like from the teacher’s perspective.

If they were anything like when I was a kid, then the decibel level was deafening, one leg was on the floor ready to run as the clocked ticked down the seconds, and the other leg was still firmly planted on the seat of our desks because the teacher said to remain at our desks until the bell rang (close enough, right?).

My friends and I ran home as fast as we could, tossed our book bags into the front door, screamed hello to our mom’s, and it was off to the garage to grab our bikes.

Off we rode.

Jimmy, Bobby, Goo and I were gone for the day on an endless adventure.

We weren’t supposed to cross the busier streets; we did!

We weren’t to go past a five block radius of house; we did!

Did we have a destination in mind to go visit? Never!

It didn’t matter to us where we went on our adventure, we were experiencing the freedom that only summer could give to us.

Of course, it was always a little tougher to enjoy our freedom since we were always grounded for the first week of summer for breaking the rules.

Mom always said she knew we broke the rules because they taught her how to know that stuff when she went to “mom school.”

Once I became a father myself, I googled “mom school” and it turns out there isn’t one?

 

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