Broken

Over the years the form of transportation has changed many times. From horses to carriages to cars to planes. But one form of transportation has always remained constant. . . walking.

I was one and a half and I was in Salt Lake for my Grandfather's funeral. My Grandma had this great red tricycle that unfortunately now has some rust in various places, proclaiming its age much like patches of grey hair. The two back wheels were considerably smaller than the large front wheel, and between them lay a step where someone could push or ride. The pedals for this tricycle rotated around the center of the front wheel. My short legs were not long enough to reach the pedals, so my older brother James who was 14 at the time, was pushing me.

I can remember sitting on that tricycle saying, "Go faster! Go faster!" I remember looking up at the power line at the end of my Grandmother's twisting driveway and seeing a bird perched up there. Then my memory turns to a blank.

As my legs had been hanging aimlessly, and as we went faster my left leg wandered closer and closer to the wheel until it collided, pulling my foot in between the spokes and breaking my little one-year old leg.

I got a cast put on which I still have. It is so tiny.

We have home videos of me clunking around with that cast. In one video I am sitting on a counter in our kitchen with no chair close by eating dinner mints. My mom comes around the corner with the camera and says "How did you get up there?" I still have my cast on in this video.

I decided from a very early age that I would not let anything get me down or stop me from doing what I want to do.

I would need this mentality later on in life.