Member-only story
Three April, Twenty Twenty-One
Rebellion on the down-low
Are you one of those out-there, in-ya-face defiant rebels? Is that your bike?
I’m not and it’s not.
I was always more of the sure-no-problem, whatever-you-say-ma’am type who then went off and did whatever I was planning to do in the first place. And then lied about it. Maybe even blamed you. So, no I wouldn’t be the one to leave my bike there. To be clear, however, I also would not be the one to snitch you out for doing it. But who could resist taking that picture? I mean, c’mon! It’s not like I’m sending the photo to “Management” or anything.
Blame it on birth order — I’m the oldest child and grandchild, talk about adored and spoiled rotten! — or Viet Nam which did a number on my previously blind, pledge-of-allegiance spouting trust in the grownups. I got highly indignant when my mother, born in 1932, shrugged off Viet Nam as just a “dirty, little war” but fumed about it silently. Blame it on planetary alignment but I came late to the screw-you party.
Once I arrived, however, I decided I fit in just fine. As long as I didn’t have to stand up and actually defy anyone outright.
This has not served me well. You don’t look surprised.
