He rode his little bike with a form of street savvy that I envied…and somewhat feared. Where was he going? Where was he coming from? Was he accountable to someone?
He stopped at the traffic light ahead of me with a dirty little foot well placed on the ground for balance, impatiently awaiting his turn to join the free flowing traffic, when apparently, frustrated by the wait and feeling that he was not subject to traffic laws, he darted across the road, arrogantly popping a wheelie as he joined the flow of cars.
He executed the wheelie with daring precision, and I could not help but admire its longevity and the seeming casualness of his cycling maneuvers, which indicated that he was a veteran of the streets. He owned the road. All vehicles were subject to his will.
Then, as one disgruntled driver sat aggressively on his horn, having had to swerve in order to miss hitting little Evel Knievel, I watched in awe as he raised a grubby little middle figure in the general direction of the driver, all executed with a sneer of the upper lip.
My first inclination on seeing this act of defiance was to snicker...and then, I wanted to cry…What is to become of our children?
On that depressed note, I shall now exit.