Monday, May 26, 2008

Rebel, Rebel

Yesterday it hit me just how old I really am now. When I seriously considered calling 911 on the guy in the park who was tooling around on his dirtbike, giving rides to little kids, I knew I was a card-carrying member of the Old, In The Way And No Fun No More club.

To be fair, the law was totally on my side. He was breaking a slew of rules. First, there's a big yellow sign at all four park entrances reading "NO MOTORIZED VEHICLES INSIDE THE TRACK." This kid was motoring inside the track, on the track, through the pool area and anywhere he could. And I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to ride infants, toddlers or small children in your lap on a dirtbike, much less when they're absolutely not wearing a helmet of any kind and are barely able to peep over the handlebars as you whip around corners. That's breaking Georgia law, I'd wager.

So I thought about calling the local cops yesterday as this dude and his crew partied it up in the park, along with everyone else, but I didn't. Yes, I would have been technically right to finger King Kawasaki. Nobody should just thumb his or her nose at a law, especially when it's posted right in your face. But who am I to be the arbiter of fun in the park?

My cousin Al used to surprise my niece and me back in our '70s childhood by visiting from Florida on his yellow Honda motorcycle and he'd give us bike rides up and down our neighborhood street. We thought it was the coolest thing ever and never wanted that feeling of being "big" enough to ride a motorcycle to end. I remember how it feels to have the wind in your hair and tempt fate at age five.

I still wish those kids in the park had been wearing helmets, though. People should be smarter now than we were back when I was letting the good times roll.