Member-only story
I Rode with Strangers for the First Time at Age 7
No, I’m not suggesting it
When a black SUV pulled up and stopped next to me, my biking siblings were too far away and focused on winning the race to intervene.
They asked me if I needed a ride, and I said yes. After all, I was only seven.
I grew up in a yellow rectangular house on five acres. We had everything: a pool, woods, tree fort, zip line, rope swing, tether-ball pole, sledding hill, baseball field . . . It was a child’s paradise.
About a half mile down the dirt road from our house was The Park. It hosted four swings with thick silver chains, hard black rubber seats, and sturdy green support beams that were just the right size to shimmy up.
Our community used to have a picnic at The Park every summer, complete with a clown making balloon shapes, lots of people, and lots of food. We always went.
While my parents talked to the neighbors, my siblings and I stuffed our pockets with the free candy on the picnic tables.
One year, when I was still small enough (around seven) for my dad’s deep brown cowboy boots to come past my knees, my family went to the picnic in installments. Some of us walked, others rode bikes. After eating and participating in some neighborhoodly activities, my sister…
