When I was maybe 7, I was riding my bike in the street. This was my first bike, and I hadn't been riding it long.
Anyway, my older brother and his friend Sean were over the house and just hanging out. I imagine my asshole brother must have said to him " Hey, let's mess with Dave. I'm kind of bored," This is strictly a guess, but it wouldn't surprise me. My brother seemed to get "bored" a lot when I was around, and subsequently made me his entertainment for the day. I should have charged him Ticketmaster prices, maybe he would have left me alone.
Suddenly I hear "Hey, Dave. If we catch you, we're going to kick your ass." So, like the little wuss that I was, I took off. Peddling as fast as I could down the street. I was huffing and puffing and kicking my little white Irish legs, wearing my Jack Tripper shorts and athletic socks up to my knees.
I look behind me as they are getting closer, laughing like two evil scientists who just discovered the formula for immortality. Or, like two 12 year old boys with their first tittie magazine.
As I was getting closer to the end of my street, I had a dilemma. You see, my street ended at the crossing of another road running horizontal. And that road always had cars zipping down it, and it was around the corner from the end of my street, so anyone coming by wouldn't see me until it's too late.
So I did what any smart 7 year old would do. I jammed on the brakes and got ready to take my beating. Except......
I hit JUST the front brake. Yup, I flew like the Greatest American Hero over the handle bars. Flapping my arms and legs like 4 pieces of wet spaghetti during a wind storm.
I put my hands out to brace my fall as I hit the ground. And skidded.
I had road burns all over the palms of my hands, knees and forehead. I looked like two pieces of tenderized meat that the Swedish Chef from Muppets pounded on for over 2 hours.
I was crying " Take me home to Ma, you asshole!!!!!!" Having that type of language at 7 years old is the only benefit to having an older brother.
So, I limped up the street with my bike in hand, sniffling and hobbling the entire way.
I don't remember what happened next. But from then on anytime my brother said he was bored, I grabbed my helmet and gloves. And the bacatracin.