PERCEPTIONS: Wild accusations

My mom and dad were standing beside me on the gravel road that ran past our house, happily watching my little sister, Jane. She was wobbling her way down a hill on a shiny pink bicycle, experiencing for the first time the wonder of unassisted balance and motion on two wheels.

Newborn skills are fragile. As the bike rolled down the hill it gained dangerous speed. Playful wobbling turned into desperate zigs and zags. Her path became as frantic as the look on her face. Faster and faster she went, her control diminishing as her velocity increased. A final desperate zag sent her smashing squarely into me. She erupted in an instinctive and outraged, “MOOOOOREEEEEE!”

I confess that I used to delight in provoking this reaction from my little sister. But on this occasion I was as innocent as the mailbox on the road beside me. As my sister and I picked ourselves up out of the gravel, we heard mom and dad in the background, laughing uproariously at the wild ride and even wilder accusation.

I’ve been feeling a lot like Jane on that bike lately. As I wobble down life’s road, I keep gaining speed, losing control and plowing into things. My instinct is to blame innocent bystanders.

I am slowly learning to face the facts: The only hands doing any steering are the ones attached to my own arms and if I ever want to learn to ride I must stop complaining about everyone else and take responsibility for my own collisions.