Now, before I go any further, I need to give two disclaimers here. One, my mom really is a caring, compassionate person. She may not come across that way in this story, but trust me, she is. Two, my mom will likely dispute every single detail in this story, but hey, she’s getting old and doesn’t remember stuff. I was there. I know what happened. This is the true story.
Way back when, around 1984, my mom was a bike-riding fool. She’d head out in the evenings on her bike, and we wouldn’t see her for a couple of hours. She’d ride a minimum of six miles a day. It was pretty impressive. On one fateful day, Mom asked me to accompany her on her ride. I think we both had a momentary lapse of sanity. For Mom it was the fact that she asked me. For me it was the fact that I agreed to go.
So we took off on that bike ride on a warm June afternoon. Our local supermarket, Delchamps, was still under construction, and the shoulder of Judge Perez Dr. was slightly blocked. (BTW, my mom still mourns the passing of Delchamps. It was over 10 years ago, Mom. It’ll be OK.) Anyway, there were yellow barricades with flashing lights on the shoulder of the road, and they were connected with yellow caution tape. I have no idea why Mom was riding her bike in flip flops, but she was. As we rode, her flip flop caught on the caution tape and pulled down a barricade. As I approached the downed barricade, I had to think fast. Rush hour traffic was speeding down Judge Perez, and as anyone from da parish knows, that part of Judge Perez is like the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Well, I didn’t think fast enough, and my bike hit the downed barricade. I flew off of the bike.
Yes, I was lying on the side of Judge Perez Dr. during rush hour traffic on top of a fallen barricade as its yellow lights blinked underneath me. No, it was not one of my shining moments. OK, maybe it was considering there were flashing lights. But I digress.
Mom realized what happened and came back to check on me. In true My Mom Fashion, she expressed her concern as only she could. She told me to get up and get back on the bike because I was embarrassing her.
Luckily I wasn’t hurt too badly, just scraped up palms and knees. I finished our bike ride, but after that I never rode with my mom again. She loves telling this story. She tells it to everyone—new friends, co-workers, potential husbands. Maybe this is why I’m still single. Anyway, in her version, I’m the one who caused the whole thing. She had nothing to do with it. Sure, Mom. You keep believing that. It’s about time the true story is told. And here it is.