Firsts
by Tommy
Life is full of firsts. First day at school, first time riding a bike, first time eating chili so hot you can’t taste anything for a week.
I remember my first day of primary school. It was the one year -ever- that the my brothers were in the same school as me. Patrick had scampered off to the USA by the time I hit secondary school. I remember Mom lining us up in our uniforms outside the house and taking a photo of us. Knowing Mom, she probably has the photo still stored somewhere, I may attempt a rescue mission, and scan it up here. I’m told the 5 year old me looks no different to today’s me, I’ll leave you to judge.
My first time riding a bike is less clear. I recall several attempts at riding without stabilizers. I suppose the first time I remember managing such a two-wheeled feat was in Sligo when I was about 7, possibly even later. I spent the day with Dad and John learning how not to fall off. If my memory serves me right, I had everything down save for stopping, which, in hindsight, seems like a rather large omission on my part of my mentors.
It was never a problem until one evening, when I decided to ride around the estate for a while. John and Dad were busy doing something so I went out on my own. There were some other kids rollerblading around as I blocked out everything except little jerks of the handlebars, left peddle, right peddle, repeat. I remember cycling down a path which intersected with another one, before coming down into the car parking space. I was facing the cars when I glanced up and saw a girl rollerblading down the perpendicular path, and I looked ahead, noticing we’d reach the intersection at roughly the same time, and that would be a nasty collision.
Now, I would say that my 7 year old self saw things slightly differently than they actually were. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if the girl was in fact 10 feet further back than I thought, and there was never any danger of us colliding unless. Nonetheless, I felt it apropos to yell out ‘WATCH OUT!’ in a highly theatrical voice, like I was some noble super spy giving his life to save the world from total destruction. I flew through the intersection as the girl no doubt looked perplexed at this eejit with a Messiah Complex flew down the path toward the parked cars.
Oh yes, the parked cars. I glanced up a second time, because, y’know, the first time’d done so much good. I reached for the brake and tried to pull it, but the damn thing was stiff and the adrenaline pumping through had made my hands all slippery. I ended up colliding with this guy’s BMW (at least, I think it was, 7-year-old poetic licence may be at work though). Luckily, I suffered no lasting damage, the girls raised the alarm (once they’d gotten over their fear at this lunatic who crashes into cars, no doubt) and I spent the evening inside with TV and hot chocolate.
And who says chivalry’s dead! :)
The third first, the chili, was actually an olive that John fed me. He knew of my love for olives, and also my dislike of anything even remotely hot, and I ended up drinking half of Limerick’s water supply in one go. It was too late, though. Tommy’s taste buds were gone. Dies irae – dies illa, Kyrie eleison, Yitgadal v’yitkadash, and so on.
Reading over this post, I dunno how I ever managed to ride a bike ever again!