Here’s another story from when I was a little girl. It’s about a bicycle – my daddy’s bicycle to be exact. We were very poor and didn’t have a car, so the bicycle had to do some hard work. One of the things it did for us was taking me to church. My older sisters walked from our farm to the little Methodist church in the village. They would start out early and then when my daddy finished milking the cows, he would set me on the cross bar of the bicycle and pedal me to church.
I always felt that I must be special to get to ride in front of my daddy on the bicycle when the others had to walk. I always chatted on the way to church and urged my daddy to go faster because I wanted to catch up with my sisters.
Quite often we did catch up to them and then my daddy would hop off the bike and walk along side them, still pushing me on the bicycle. I felt like a queen in a parade.
But one Sunday we did not catch up to my sisters because, with all my chattering, I forgot to hold my legs out away from the wheel. All of a sudden my foot became caught in between the spokes of the front wheel. The skin was scraped off my ankle and I was crying. What was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday morning ride turned out to be a bit of a disaster. We were almost to the village and daddy knew someone who lived in a nearby house. They were just ready to go to church, but the kind lady took me in and took care of my scrape. She made me soak my foot in very hot water with Epsom salts in it. It hurt like fury and I didn’t think it was necessary to add to my pain by having the water so hot, but she acted like she knew what she was doing and my daddy didn’t rescue me from her. He just kept grabbing my foot and dunking it in the hot, salty water.
I don’t remember if we ever did get to church that day, but that really doesn’t matter. My ankle healed up. I still have the scar on my right ankle, just above the bone, to prove that it really happened – in case you didn’t believe me. I know I’ll never forget!