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Adam WoodDr. PageENG 111April 18, 2023

Enduring a Fall

Finally, May was halfway over. That winter in 1993, a huge winter storm system later

named, “The Blizzard of ‘93” swept the eastern states dumping 174.8 inches of snow in our front

yard of Toledo, Ohio. It was a snowstorm I experienced that was so intense it occasionally had

thunder and lightning. Fortunately, I could see the brightly colored blue bucket and toy yellow

San Diego fire truck I had hidden in the lower third of my melting oversized snowman. I could

hear the water dripping from the melting ice on the roof, trees and power lines. I could again

smell the moist fertile black soil that was the home of many earthworms and groundhogs.

Ultimately, I knew this meant that I could finally ride my new bicycle.

Earlier last Christmas I had received the only toy that I wanted at the time, a new bicycle.

This was my first bike that was without training wheels. Just before the winter months I had

accidentally taught myself how to ride without training wheels. Visiting my older nephew I was

excited to see that he had his bike with him when we arrived. I jumped out of our car, took his

bicycle and sped off circling the parking lot. All that time, I did not realize that he no longer had

training wheels. I was as startled as my mother when she shouted, “I didn’t know you knew how

to ride now without training wheels!” because, I didn’t know that I could either. I realized that

the only thing that had been holding me back was an attitude of fear. However, I was unaware

that the exploration of my newfound ability this May would end up a lesson of self.

I was excited about what I had planned out all winter. There was a large hill at the

entrance of our neighborhood that sloped inward like a huge slide. My plan was to go to this hill

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and while beside my dad fly as fast as I could to the bottom. There was significantly less fear

than I normally would have had about this type of situation. Because of this, I was wholly

enthusiastic about the experience I was about to have. I was prepared to take on my dad in a race

down this hill and win.

Here I went, this was the moment. Positioned at the top of the hill at the entrance I began

to pedal forward. I was pedaling so fast and the air was whooshing by and pushing into my face.

I wore a grin of excitement as I propelled myself faster and faster. By the time my pedaling

wasn’t helping me accelerate anymore, I was moving so fast that my dad was in hindsight,

nowhere to be found. I could hear the pawl inside the freewheel clicking faster than I’d ever

heard one clack before. This was awesome; I was awesome. Until suddenly, I didn't know what

was happening. My handlebars started to shake vigorously, from left to right. What was I

supposed to do? This was the moment indeed, a reckless accidental one. All of that built-up

adrenaline transferred into fear of impending doom.

I was out of control. Suddenly, as I careened forward down the hill on my unstable new

bike, my wheel sharply positioned itself left, inducing the slow motion effect. I flew through the

air over the handlebars. Landing, I met the rocky gray pavement face first. My exaggerated

momentum dragging me across the pavement, the palms of my hands tried to dampen the

friction. They failed me, folding over and presenting their backside and leaving a visible trail of

skin, flesh and blood on the course surface. I could hear my vehicle tumbling behind me only to

land on top of me as we grinded to a halt. I laid there in shock until I was peeled from the road.

I retaliated against the bike, kicking it and attempting to hurl it across the pavement. It

was surely its fault, "I hate it!" I cried out in tears. When I turned to my father for confirmation,

he said, with a surprised tone and a smirk on his face, "You do?” This made me unsure of

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myself, but out of spite I replied back sharply, "Yes!" while simultaneously calming down to

evaluate my actions. My plans were ruined, everything was ruined, but I guess it wasn’t that bad.

Riding in my seat on Dad's bicycle, he carried my bike one handed the rest of the way to

our driveway. I looked as both my forearms, knees, the palms of my hands and all of my

knuckles except for my left pinky were missing skin. I noticed my front teeth were loose, all of

them. I asked Dad if it will hurt to lose my front teeth. I didn't know at the time what my dad had

seen. I had completely bitten through my bottom lip, my lower teeth visibly piercing through the

skin. He calmly replied, "No.". Assured, I started working on pulling my left incisor out.

When we arrived, it seemed something dramatic had happened. My mother blew out of

the front door flailing towards us with her hands in the air, screaming. I was confused, what was

wrong? She started shouting, "What happened?! We have to go to the hospital!” At that point I

realized my emotions were irreverent. My father's stoic appearance had been deceptive. This

really was serious! I began to cry.

Now I was disoriented, only hearing my wailing and seeing the refracted light through

my tears. I cried most of the way to the hospital until realizing, this wasn't doing me any good. It

had me realize that before seeing my mother everything was fine, now I felt awful. I made a

decision. Just as suddenly as the crying had started, it stopped. My mother’s emotions were

affecting me and I began to reject them being imposed. The rest of the car ride was quiet. Taking

the time while lying in the back seat, I looked up at the sky until it was obstructed by the

emergency room overhang. My newfound attitude carried over into the waiting room shocking

the other children with my appearance and un-matching mellow behavior as I attempted to play

with the Legos.

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Finally the nurses were seeing me. The reactions from the other children in the waiting

room were real but the nurses were obviously putting on a show of smiles and enthusiastic

pleasant words for me. I told the nurses that I knew it was bad and that I wasn’t going to cry

because it would just make it worse. Only then did I see the same reaction on the nurses faces

that I had seen from the other children in the waiting room, shock, and it was pleasant. I

remember Dr. Rodgers saying, "This has to be the bravest 7 year old receiving 7 stitches I've

ever seen!” I felt I had discovered something great.

That day I realized just how much I could tolerate and withstand if I just wore the right

attitude. No matter how much pain there was and how concerned my mother looked, remaining

calm and keeping control was the best answer. It helped me to see a beautiful blue May sky, play

with Legos and receive a compliment from an accomplished man that I will never forget. On

what should have been one of my worse days, my attitude made it one of my best and most

memorable. This would ultimately help me honestly agree when I would later hear the phrase,

“Attitude is everything.”