My mother use to plague me with "be careful, dear" throughout my exploratory years. I got a pair of skates, which came with a "be careful, dear." And so I was. I was so afraid of skinning my knee that I couldn't skate backwards. This comes up a lot now because of "Birdie" my new Trikke. After my trip over the handlebars on my first outing, I still get a little nervous.I was going out to carve the other day and two of my neighbors said, as I was walking through the lobby, "be careful!" I was spooked. I had decided if I got one more warning that I would turn around and at the foot of the TV, pull the covers over my head.
Well, nothing happened that day. I did think of my cousin Theresa. We never really met, I was a few months old and she was 5. Our families were together visiting our grandparents and Theresa rode her bike into the street, was hit by a car, flew 50 feet and broke her neck. She died in the street that day.
I grew up under the shadow of a dead girl. "Be careful, dear" was a real warning, based in muscle memory. It was an admonistration, a mantra to remind me of what might happen in one fast moment. It was a name put on a curse. "If you do something even a little unsafe you might be wiped off the face of the world. Sit still"
I've decided to shut my mother's voice up! I won't sit still anymore. Carve Diem is the new mantra!
photo by Randy Boyd
