15/100: Memory Loss

I remember a lot of things.  I remember the cabin we visited when I was four, and how my Dad capsized a leaky Sunfish after assuring everyone he knew how to sail. I remember the first time we drove to Plymouth Rock and saw a replica of the Mayflower...which I convinced myself was the original ship. No one could convince me otherwise.  I also remember that time when I strove to embody Calvin & Hobbes so desperately, I snuck out of my house at 2am and walked 8 blocks away just to prove a point.

I don't remember my first cake. I also don't remember the first time I held a crayon, my first bike ride, or the time I pulled a wooden screen down on top of my crib, narrowly escaping death in the process. Maybe we can explore one of these.

Day 15: Write about an important moment in your life that you have forgotten. What do you think occurred during your first communion, or your first birthday party? How do you think you were acting? Length: 350 words

Macho Baby:

A photo exists of me as a toddler, probably no more than 18 months old, sitting on the back of my Dad's bike in a child seat that would certainly land me in the custody of Child Protective Services at the very thought of putting my kid in it today. The best thing about this photo was that, not only was I reaching desperately towards my parent with my chubby little sausage fingers, begging to be released, but I was sporting a powder blue t-shirt that read "Macho Baby," in giant, sparkly letters.  I have no memory of this whatsoever, but I can assure you, this day was amazing.

I can picture the scene almost perfectly. My Mom pulls into the drive in her '78 shit-brown Chrysler Cordoba just as my Old Man is strapping me into this newly bought death-contraption that now sits on the back of his bright yellow '67 Contintental Schwinn, (a bike which I now happen to have hanging in my own Garage, 36 years later).  I can also assume that my Mom did not approve of this scenario and my Pops joked, assured and reassured her that I was perfectly safe in the hands of a guy who once rode this very bike straight into a driveway chain while drunk on an unknown number of Mai Tais.

As luck would have it, I got through the ride unscathed. It was early in the summer, and I can only imagine that this was the first ride of the season, a seasonal tradition we kept as a family that would continue well into my high school years. This ride kicked off what has long been some of my best memories of growing up in Ohio; a long bike ride through Mill Creek Park to our favorite picnic spot; a small bench looking over Lake Newport that was perfect for creating the perfect echo of our cheers across the water. I can only hope that 35 years down the road, my own son looks back on his childhood with the same sense of calm and contentment.

Macho Baby