20 Comments

This one kind of threw me at first because of the bicycle accident. When I was seven, I was learning to ride without training wheels (I have never driven a car) and I was doing fine, cruising down the sidewalk, but then an older neighborhood kid went by in the street showing off, so I had to show off too, and promptly faceplanted and broke off parts of my (unfortunately secondary) front teeth, not so permanent after all. My initial visceral reaction was absolute terror that my mother was going to, I don't know, annihilate me? Torture me? "kill me" just doesn't sound strong enough.

Anyway, the initial reaction was a lot of alarm and concern, but I never copped to showing off. I did, on the other hand, develop an absolute brilliance at falling off a bicycle relatively uninjured. So in the long run, maybe that was worth the teeth.

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There is no moment more terrifying than that initial shock and realization that your mom is going to find out about something you’ve done wrong. I’m glad that things worked out okay for you.

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There are worse ways to go than death by metal sculpture. One of those big ones made out of bicycle chains and old pipe wrenches, that’d be good.

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John, this was beautiful. Thank you for sharing

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Thank you for taking the time to read it. I’m glad it spoke to you.

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Thanks for sharing

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Thanks for taking time to read the story. I appreciate it and hope that you enjoyed it.

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This is an amazing story John. Made me cry. A line I loved: “The figure’s form had become less solid now, more suggestion than substance, like cigarette smoke in the moment before its dissipated by the wind.”

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Thank you. That statement was inspired by a lot of childhood memories of my mother, aunts, uncles... it was the 70s. Everyone smoked back then.

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Great story John and it’s crazy how a smell can take you back; somehow the smell of ozone is especially *sharp*

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Thanks for the kind words. Did you used to work as a welder?

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Nope; frying electric motors was my game

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OH! Ha! That’s really funny and a connection I hadn’t thought about. Thanks for explaining.

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Beautiful, John. Thank you.

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Thank you, Leanne!

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❗️♥️💥♥️❗️ Thank you😊♥️❗️

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You’re welcome.

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The true artist and his art can bring back memories. I remember my father holding the back of my bike when I learned to ride. I remember the smell of ozone when Dad taught me to weld. I remember the smell of the earth when he taught me to plant wheat.

You did a great job, Sir.

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What a beautiful story. Made my Sunday morning.

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This story touched me deeply — not because of any of my personal experiences, but because it was so well written that I related to, actually “transformed” (to use your own word) into Tom. Reading it made me think in a new way about fear — esp fear of failure. Well done and kudos to you. Keep writing. I’ll be watching.

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