If scrapes and scabs could talk ~ July 19, 1991

David Heiller

If six-year-old bodies could talk, they would have plenty to say about vacations. Take Malika’s nose. The freckles are finally starting to show through the scab there. For a while, it looked as if someone had peeled it like a banana.

Swingset gymnastics at the old Brownsville school.

Mollie had been performing stunts on the swings at the school grounds. She would grab the ropes and lift herself out of the swing, then rotate backwards until she was facing the ground, like a gymnast.

Disaster came one afternoon when she let go while in this position. I could hear her crying a block away, where I was cutting weeds in the backyard. Her face looked like someone had hit it with a mud pie: a coat of dirt ran in a circle from forehead to chin. Her nose wasn’t broken, but oh, what a scab. Yet she was back at the park the next day. Playgrounds have a way of making you forget about a few scabs.

If bodies could talk, you’d hear grumbling from Mollie’s shoulder and knees too, from a spill off her bike. She had only been riding a two-wheeler for three weeks, and was doing quite well, except for a minor detail of not using her brakes. She used the Fred Flintstone braking method of dragging her feet until stopped.

Malika, always happily daring,
on her ten mile + huge fall, bike ride.
 I am so pleased to say that Ms. Malika
mastered biking and still loves it today!

We were on a 10-mile leg of a beautiful bike trail from Fountain to Lanesboro, Minnesota. All was fine until we came to a steep hill, with an 80-degree turn at the bottom. Mollie went down with her hands frozen to the handlebars and her hair stuck out from the back of her head by the stiff breeze and an even stiffer fear. I know she was scared, because I was scared just watching her, the way you feel when you can see an acci­dent coming but are powerless to stop it.

If yells could have slowed her, she would have stopped. “Use your brakes, use your brakes!” I shouted, as she disappeared in front of me. I found her at the bottom, off the trail, in the weeds, under her bike. She had gone straight when the trail had turned.

The Brownsville vacation David,
his mom, Malika and Noah, 1991.
 Malika's scabs don't show here!

Her shoulder and knee had bad scrapes, but otherwise she was fine. I guess parents always fear the worst. She was shook up and crying, but not too much that she couldn’t get back on her bike and finish the 10-mile trip. Bike trails have a way of making you forget about a few scrapes.

Then there’s the poison ivy. Mollie must have picked it up on our hike to Crooked Creek. We were so busy looking for rattlesnakes that we ignored the more common dangers. Cindy and I used to make this hike before we had kids, with Crooked Creek the perfect half-way point for a skinny dip. But this time, a herd of cows upstream had muddied the stream, so I just car­ried everyone across, and we hiked and pic­nicked on.

A poison ivy rash bubbled up on Mollie’s leg that evening, and spread to her other leg the next day. She was told not to itch it, but still it spread. Mollie was worried at first, but she soon accepted it, and now points it out to us proudly. Like her scrapes and scabs, it was another red badge of courage, and a sign of a well-spent vacation.

Playgrounds, bike rides, and hikes are only the half of it. Mix in a banjo, some old friends, a swim in the river, a stringer full of sunnies, a family reunion, and a grandmother who en­joyed it as much as we did, and you’ll have the best vacation imaginable. Scrapes and all.