Not a Cinderella!
I still carry around memories of my grade school years of riding a bike to and from school. I went to St. Paul's Catholic School in Barton Heights, maybe about 2 miles from my home on Arnold Avenue. Just close enough to walk or to ride my bike.
Of course, during my first several years and during the winter months, we rode in the big yellow school bus that stopped on the corner of Wellington Street and Arnold Avenue. Though most of the kids in the neighborhood went to public school, there were still a handful of us who climbed on board that bus each morning with William at the wheel. William was the janitor and all-around handyman at St. Elizabeth's Church where those of us living in Highland Park attended. Since St. Elizabeth's didn't have a school at that time, we had to attend St. Paul's and our friend, William, made sure we got there on time.
Finally, I was old enough to ride my bike to school! Unless, I rode my bike alone, I used to wait for my girlfriend, Margarite, who lived on Florida Avenue, about a mile from my house. We often rode to school together; south on Wellington Street to Brookland Park Boulevard and then west into Barton Heights, all the way to Fendall Avenue. The school was about 2 blocks south on Fendall Avenue.
One afternoon when I was in the 7th or 8th grade, I took my usual shortcuts through the alleyways of Barton Heights to get home quicker. This particular shortcut took me through the alley behind the Sisters' convent on North Avenue, a couple blocks from school. Was I talking to Margarite and not paying attention? Was I showing off my braking and skidding abilities? Who remembers? The bike twisted and skidded and I was dragged along the cinders in the alley! Ouch! I picked myself up and checked to see if anything was broken. My right knee was bloody but otherwise, I was fine. I scrapped off the gravel and cinders from my legs and climbed back on my bike and we headed home.
I guess I did all the normal first aid ministrations when I got home. I washed the blood off and dabbed some mercurochrome on my knee and put a bandaid on it and went about my business of playing with my friends.
I never bothered to dig the cinders out of my knee. That would have hurt too much! So now, almost 60 years later, I still have momentoes of that bike accident to show off to whomever is interested! :)
Of course, during my first several years and during the winter months, we rode in the big yellow school bus that stopped on the corner of Wellington Street and Arnold Avenue. Though most of the kids in the neighborhood went to public school, there were still a handful of us who climbed on board that bus each morning with William at the wheel. William was the janitor and all-around handyman at St. Elizabeth's Church where those of us living in Highland Park attended. Since St. Elizabeth's didn't have a school at that time, we had to attend St. Paul's and our friend, William, made sure we got there on time.
Finally, I was old enough to ride my bike to school! Unless, I rode my bike alone, I used to wait for my girlfriend, Margarite, who lived on Florida Avenue, about a mile from my house. We often rode to school together; south on Wellington Street to Brookland Park Boulevard and then west into Barton Heights, all the way to Fendall Avenue. The school was about 2 blocks south on Fendall Avenue.
One afternoon when I was in the 7th or 8th grade, I took my usual shortcuts through the alleyways of Barton Heights to get home quicker. This particular shortcut took me through the alley behind the Sisters' convent on North Avenue, a couple blocks from school. Was I talking to Margarite and not paying attention? Was I showing off my braking and skidding abilities? Who remembers? The bike twisted and skidded and I was dragged along the cinders in the alley! Ouch! I picked myself up and checked to see if anything was broken. My right knee was bloody but otherwise, I was fine. I scrapped off the gravel and cinders from my legs and climbed back on my bike and we headed home.
I guess I did all the normal first aid ministrations when I got home. I washed the blood off and dabbed some mercurochrome on my knee and put a bandaid on it and went about my business of playing with my friends.
I never bothered to dig the cinders out of my knee. That would have hurt too much! So now, almost 60 years later, I still have momentoes of that bike accident to show off to whomever is interested! :)
posted by mary ann at 2:19 PM
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