However, some memories are sharp. Painfully sharp. One such occasion that I have not only not forgotten, but remember 31 years later with striking detail involved bleeding and yelling. Actually, most of my memories from childhood involve those two components. Let me break it down further.
THE CAST:
Myself: A ponytailed eight-year-old enjoying her last year before chubbiness and the first of a series of bad hairstyle choices.
Tom Thorpe: The Neighbor Boy, as well as my co-president in our neighborhood club.
My Mother: A frightening woman who would take none of my nonsense, amazing ponytail or not.
The Go-Kart: A beast of epic proportions
The Tree: The biggest tree in the world. I'm sure it was in Guinness, but I don't have a copy of the 1984 record book. Or any others.
The Thorpes were an amazing family. Mom, dad, three kids, and all the coolest gadgetry offered up in the early Eighties. They got stuff that was advertised on Nickelodeon, for God's sake. The mom actually called the number and ordered the merch, paid the shipping and handling, and the stuff arrived. Well, I assume that's how she did it. You could also send for it via mail, I guess. But it made more sense to order on the phone, because if you call within the next ten minutes, you can get TWO items. Or a cleaning kit. Something.
I digress.
One of the most amazing toys belonged to Tom Thorpe. It was a go-kart. For God's sakes, man, we can't even drive, and you're zooming around on a go-kart? What are you, above the law? What are you, related to the president? These were thoughts that probably went through my head as I watched from my side of the property line, mouth undoubtedly either hanging open or full of food, as Tom Thorpe zoomed around his circle drive, through the gates to his backyard, and around the perimeter of said yard, over and over. Finally, pity led him to me, and he offered to let me drive it.
I remembered pretty specifically what my mom had said on this topic when she had first seen Tom Thorpe defy space and time and the law, and what she had said was "NO."
But I had a reputation to uphold as the co-president of the neighborhood club, and even though I was scared enough to want to throw up, I choked it back down and agreed.
I got in. I sat down. I strapped in. Easy stuff so far. All I had to do was press down on the foot pedal and go. Straight shot, through the gates, around the yard, and back again.
I pressed the pedal and bucked forward, and I believe it was at that point that my brain short-circuited. I zoomed through the gates, started to turn left for the yard navigation, and then...THE TREE.
It was a thousand feet tall and could move, because suddenly it loomed above me out of nowhere. I remember hearing yelling behind me. And then feeling the impact. And oh, God, the sound.
You see, I had mastered the idea of the gas pedal, but had completely forgotten the pedal on the other side. The one that was used for stopping. I had gotten that beautiful machine, that go-kart from the future, stuck between the tree and the fence. I was shaken and battered, but not as much as the 'kart. I was bleeding.
Thankfully, I don't remember extricating myself from the wreckage, nor do I remember the look on Tom's face or his parents' reactions.
I do remember the blood pouring from my knee, and limping home.
My mom was sitting on the front porch. Seeing her, I immediately began to cry, pointing to my blood leg and trying to talk.
She was perfectly horrified and stood to take care of me, as a loving mother should. And then she asked the inevitable question:
"What happened?!?"
I choked out the fateful words: "Go-Kart."
Her lips pursed. Her gaze narrowed.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO RIDE ON THAT DAMN THING."
And she turned on her heel and marched into the house, shutting the door in my face.
That's where my memory fades. I assume I didn't die of blood loss, and I doubt I had to spend the night outside.
Fast-forward to September 2014, many bad hairstyles and go-kart-free years later. That's when I agreed to attend a bachelorette party for one of the most fiercely loyal and no-nonsense women I have ever met.
She's a bit of a country girl, so the party included a trip to Carousel Park in Joplin to ride the go-karts.
Being navigationally challenged, I was late due to a quick detour to Oklahoma. So when I arrived, most of the girls were 'karting already and I took up a spot safely in the spectators' area on the other side of the fence from the intimidating-looking, sharp-turn-laden course.
I stood by Tami, who couldn't ride because of her "neck".
The riders finished, with the bride-to-be winning (she would have beaten down anyone who dared to cross that line before she did, anyway) and rushed victoriously out of the gates for some pictures.
After we had all posed several times, she turned to me with a ticket.
"COME ON, JEN! I'LL BEAT YOUR ASS!"
"Oh, no," I demurred, "I'm not riding."
"YES YOU ARE! COME ON!"
And then the cacophony of voices from the others: "Go on, Jen!"
I slightly panicked. "My neck..."
Tami laughed. "Nice try."
Finally, I 'fessed up. I told them I had not been on a go-kart since I was roughly seven years old after a tragic accident.
Corie grabbed my hand. "TIME TO FACE YOUR FEARS!"
Then, full-blown flashback mode, with this voice from the 1986, scary-as-hell movie "Carrie" playing as background music.
I went, I strapped in. It was just the two of us. I committed to memory the vision of TWO pedals. And then it was go time.
I inched forward. Corie lunged ahead.
And then my competitive drive kicked in and I went full-throttle. We raced neck and neck, around and around the track. She was kind enough to let me stay in the lead at first, but then we had a collision and she was stuck for a bit while I raced ahead. For two laps, I maintained a healthy lead. Fear was gone. Victory would be mine. Why haven't I done this all my life!? I thought, laughing out loud like an idiot. Why haven't I checked into doing this professionally? Is it too la-
It was at that point that I was hit with some force, and spun nose-first into the guard rail. There was no reverse.
I was stuck. Stuck like a fool while Corie eventually lapped me, laughing like a maniac. And then again.
Finally, the attendant arrived to back me up and ask me if I had a concussion or whiplash.
Neither. And I wasn't bleeding!!!!!!
Sure, I lost. But really, didn't I also win?
No. I lost. But this 2014 contest had erased 31 years of fear.
On the way to the next stop of the party, I got cut off by some fool in a truck and tried to pass him just so I could return the favor.
The competitive go-kart spirit is strong in this one.
So now I challenge you. Is there something minor that possibly paralyzed you early in life? Something that you still avoid, even to this day?
Those years are over. Freakin' do it. You may end up stuck against the guardrail while you're lapped and mocked relentlessly, but come on, man.
Don't fear the reaper.
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