I mean who would do something like that?
I don’t really wish harm on anyone, but this was an instance where I probably would have busted out my Jet-Li-Crouching-Tiger-Hidden-Dragon moves on the piece of work that did this. If I had only seen them … but since I didn’t I’m hoping they fall down the stairs or something painful like that.
I wish for Karma.
Maybe they don’t believe in Karma, that’s why they did what they did. But she’s out there somewhere. She’s always hanging around my place, so I know she exists. I just hope that bitch bites them in the ass.
Maybe they do believe in her, and they just don’t care. They’re probably big SpiderMan fans, but that’s no excuse. I’d still wish them a big painful fall down six flights of stairs, because they suck. People suck, at least these people do.
It started off as a really good day. My son rides his bike everyday, sometimes twice a day. We woke up and decided it would be one of those days. We headed out to the dirt track in front of the fire station. It’s a pretty nice neighborhood, good community. People come out and play soccer, football, frisbee, and even hackysack. Hackysack! So why wouldn’t I think it was a decent neighborhood. We parked the truck in front of the track, just across the street from the fire station, like we always do.
My son started pedaling around the track and decided we should have our weekly race. He got off his bike, drew a line in the sand, and got back on his bike. It was our starting line.
On your mark, get set, go!
We were off to the races and his little legs pedaled pretty fast. There were four other people on the track. Three ladies and one dude, each going at their own pace. We circled the track and raced for about twenty minutes, until he stopped by the fire station.
He wanted to go visit. So we did. He raced his blue Diamondback Kids’ Mini Viper BMX Bike, with SpiderMan decals, training wheels, and a brand new Lighting McQueen bell to our truck. Ring! Ring!
He got off and parked it right next to the truck, with the handle bars touching the passenger door. He smiled and walked toward me. I usually put the bike in the back of the truck, but seeing how he was so excited about checking out Fire Station 12, we left it next to the truck and crossed the street.
Fireman George and Fireman Max were showing him all the ins and outs of the firehouse. We explored the fire truck, the fire engine, and the hazmat truck. He sat in all the trucks, and pretended to drive the big-ladder truck. He went through Fireman George’s daily routine and even got a chance to hose off the front lawn, while holding the nozzle. We took a tour of the fire hall and met other members of the crew. He was having his awesome moment of the day right then and there.
When our little tour was done he got coloring books, fire truck cards (which were like baseball cards), a ruler, a whistle, and a flashlight. He left the fire station extremely excited and full of fire station information.
As we walked to the truck, I noticed something.
For a minute I doubted myself. But then I looked again. I was having a I-can’t-believe-this-crap moment.
My three-year-old’s blue Diamondback Kids’ Mini Viper BMX Bike was gone. For a second I thought I had put it in the truck, but I remembered … I hadn’t. My heart sank as I looked at my son, who was smiling and clutching onto his firefighter coloring books, pencil, ruler, and cards. He hadn’t noticed it was gone.
I looked around and saw nothing. Only one person walking around the track. I put my kids in the truck and began questioning the lady. She remembered us racing around the track and parking his bike. But she hadn’t noticed anyone take it.
I felt so horrible the entire day. I felt wretched. I felt so bad that I didn’t even want chocolate. No chocolate, can you believe it? It was that bad. I circled the block, tried to look for the jackass who took my son’s bike, but I found nothing. I asked the garbage truck guy and the mailman, but they both told me the same thing: They had seen nothing.
I turned to look at my son. I would have to tell him what happened. I shook my head and braced myself.
I called his name.
He looked up and smiled.
I “chickened” out.
This was going to be a rough afternoon. Nap time. I would tell him after nap time. That would be better. It would give me time to think, time to find the words that wouldn’t completely suck the air out of his balloon. Yup. After nap time.
People suck, they really do. But I hope Karma’s got their number.