My Heroes

When I was about 5-years-old, I fell off my bike outside our house. I vaguely remember going in a circle several times in the street and somehow falling and sliding into one of the turns. According to my brother, he heard me cry and looked out his bedroom window only to see me lying in the middle of the street. I’m positive he came out and carried me into the house. He has always been a great brother.

Turns out I had scraped up the inside of my knee pretty badly. No stitches were required; I had what my dad always called a ‘strawberry’ and my mom had to bandage it up everyday. I could walk fine but had to be very careful.

The next memory I have is of the family leaving the mall at night. We were all walking to the car, and I must have tripped over something. I remember my Dad literally dropping everything he was carrying to make sure I didn’t fall. I mean he really jumped into action. I’m not sure if it was because my leg was still so scraped up or just because it was his instinct to rescue me. But I’ve never forgotten it.

So here’s to my dad and my big brother. Thank you for always picking me up when I fall. I love you more than you know.

xo