Speed bumps in life
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Speed Bumps in Life By Alison R.G. van Diggelen, November, 2002 It stretches like a big sleeping snake right across the street, outside our front door. It’s been there since we moved to this little corner of suburbia; a five-inch-high speed bump with black and white diagonal stripes along its girth. At first irrelevant, then an intense irritation, over the years it has become a treasure, like a bountiful fruit tree or a family heirloom. When we bought this house I didn’t even notice the speed bump. I had a large bump of my own to think about: I was five months pregnant. My only focus was getting the house organized before life, as I knew it, would change forever. Four months later, my bump produced a healthy baby boy; but the outside bump’s harvest was much longer in coming. Its first fruit was sour. Shortly after my son was born, the speed bump made its presence known. There we were in the dead of night, a nervous new mom and her ravenous newborn. Not a tree or animal stirred. I sat on the rocker, barely awake, cradling him as he nursed. Suddenly I heard the far off sound of a creaky car approaching. As it took the turn in front of our house, the screech was deafening- metal on concrete- as the car bottomed out on the bump, right outside our window. My whole body tensed and the baby started to scream. The local security guard doing his nightly rounds made this scenario a regular occurrence. Satiated and smiling in his slumber, my son would be startled awake when the low-slung car grrrrraaaaated over the bump. I came to hate that speed bump. In my groggy sleep-deprived state, I considered taking a pickaxe to it, but somehow didn’t have the energy. Seven years and one more child later, I’m glad I didn’t. My kids love the speed bump and it attracts the neighborhood kids better than an overflowing ice-cream cart on a hot afternoon. Our street is especially quiet; a crescent shape that serves only a dozen or so houses. They come with their scooters, their BMX bikes, their skateboards, and roller blades. Their parents come to watch and chat. Our front doorsteps have the best view. We shout out scores for their stunts, fifteen for wheelies, ten points for catching some air, five for a spin, three for some flare. We’ve spent some of the best evenings, literally right here on our doorstep. Adults are inspired to be kids again. To the delight of the neighborhood kids, my husband does a handstand on his skateboard and rides it over the bump. I watch, barely able to breathe. It rekindles my own childhood memories of Scotland, the long summer evenings that stretched forever. We played outside till late, even in the rain, riding hand-me-down bicycles with clunky pedals, savoring the glimpses of watery sun on our backs, splashing through puddles, oblivious to the mud, not a care in the world. I even had a scooter, an old rusty one with a wide platform and big blue handle. But we were deprived: we didn’t have a speed bump. Over the years, as the kids follow more sophisticated paths, the bump may fade in usefulness. Yet I think they’ll always remember it with special fondness. It gave them more than just a fun place for stunts. It gave them an obstacle when the training wheels were cast off like unwanted chrysalis. A friendly, achievable obstacle. One that my son crossed four years ago with some gentle coaxing from my husband. One that my daughter crossed for the first time this summer on her wobbly bike with my steady hand on the saddle, whispering encouragement in her ear. Today, she just needs an empowering push and she’s off…ah, the exhilaration, the freedom. She races toward the wide-open road ahead. This evening as they career around on their bikes, I think about how our perspective changes over time. Motherhood is a journey with surprises around every corner, where sleeping serpents can shed their skins and become best friends; where unexpected U-turns sometimes happen. Dusk comes sooner as we move deeper into winter and Holiday fever begins again in our neighborhood. I grow aware of the passage of time that draws our children to independence and maturity, one little speed bump at a time. Alison van Diggelen welcomes your comments. Email her at siliconmom@earthlink.net. She is editor of www.siliconmom.com © siliconmom
