Cady Heron, Lindsey Lohan's character in "Mean Girls," had a habit of blurting out things, even though she knew nobody wanted to hear the words. She called it "word vomit," which was her term for uncontrollable utterances.
I know about word vomit--because I sometimes say things that I swear I can't control. For example, when I'm in the street and see two adults on bikes with a child, invariably the child is wearing a helmit, but the adults are riding without. It drives me crazy. What's the child supposed to do when his/her parent suffers a traumatic brain injury? What kind of example is that parent setting? I always say something--I can't help it.
Fortunately I live by my beliefs.
Yesterday I decided to enjoy the early summer weather with a bike ride along the lake. The weather was beautiful--and I actually enjoyed being out . . . until I encountered a couple of slow moving bikers. Not wanting pass them by moving out into traffic, I decided to move to the sidewalk and pass on the inside. Not a very good plan, but seemed somehow safer to me. Bad idea.
Making a hard right turn onto a slightly raised driveway proved disasterous. My bike went down and I flew over the handle bars right onto . . . grass. That was lucky. I did hit my head, hard. And I hit my shoulder (even harder). Of course about 100 people saw my crash, and all but two of them spared me their direct sympathy. I was too embarrassed at the moment to listen.
"Are you alright?" asked the two bikers I was trying to avoid in the first place?
"Yeah, I'm fine." I smiled back. Relieved, they rode on.
But I wasn't fine. My head had just bounced off the ground, and my shoulder . . . God, I hope it wasn't broken. That would suck big time.
I was near the end of my ride--and my bike was undamaged. I carefully pedaled the rest of the way home without incident. I had not suffered a concussion--my balance was normal. No ears ringing. No pain. I did have an abrasion on my forehead from the helmet, but no blood. That would have been ugly, especially since I was reading in church for Pentecost Sunday in an hour.
And, I was less and less worried about the shoulder, too. I had full range of motion. Pain, but no swelling. Bruised, yes. Battered, definitely. Broken, no.
Church went fine. My wife and I were readers who were part of the mult-language babble to illustrate the miracle of Pentecost Sunday. I read German. Clarisa read Spanish. And I did it without drooling, suffering from a splitting headache, and with clear vision.
You see, I was wearing a properly fitted biking helmet earlier in the day. And, even though I bumped my head hard from falling, my brain was uninjured. Thank God!
Talk about a Pentecost miracle!
I know about word vomit--because I sometimes say things that I swear I can't control. For example, when I'm in the street and see two adults on bikes with a child, invariably the child is wearing a helmit, but the adults are riding without. It drives me crazy. What's the child supposed to do when his/her parent suffers a traumatic brain injury? What kind of example is that parent setting? I always say something--I can't help it.
Fortunately I live by my beliefs.
Yesterday I decided to enjoy the early summer weather with a bike ride along the lake. The weather was beautiful--and I actually enjoyed being out . . . until I encountered a couple of slow moving bikers. Not wanting pass them by moving out into traffic, I decided to move to the sidewalk and pass on the inside. Not a very good plan, but seemed somehow safer to me. Bad idea.
Making a hard right turn onto a slightly raised driveway proved disasterous. My bike went down and I flew over the handle bars right onto . . . grass. That was lucky. I did hit my head, hard. And I hit my shoulder (even harder). Of course about 100 people saw my crash, and all but two of them spared me their direct sympathy. I was too embarrassed at the moment to listen.
"Are you alright?" asked the two bikers I was trying to avoid in the first place?
"Yeah, I'm fine." I smiled back. Relieved, they rode on.
But I wasn't fine. My head had just bounced off the ground, and my shoulder . . . God, I hope it wasn't broken. That would suck big time.
I was near the end of my ride--and my bike was undamaged. I carefully pedaled the rest of the way home without incident. I had not suffered a concussion--my balance was normal. No ears ringing. No pain. I did have an abrasion on my forehead from the helmet, but no blood. That would have been ugly, especially since I was reading in church for Pentecost Sunday in an hour.
And, I was less and less worried about the shoulder, too. I had full range of motion. Pain, but no swelling. Bruised, yes. Battered, definitely. Broken, no.
Church went fine. My wife and I were readers who were part of the mult-language babble to illustrate the miracle of Pentecost Sunday. I read German. Clarisa read Spanish. And I did it without drooling, suffering from a splitting headache, and with clear vision.
You see, I was wearing a properly fitted biking helmet earlier in the day. And, even though I bumped my head hard from falling, my brain was uninjured. Thank God!
Talk about a Pentecost miracle!
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