flashback photo motorcycle suzuki

Me- on my little bike!

Looking through my old photos on Facebook, l saw this old Polaroid from my flashback album. I was so happy, as it brought back some good memories for me.

This picture was taken on a Saturday l remember. I had been about to set off for a ride with my friends, when l got beeped :-( . I had to go to the pharmacy for an emergency prescription fill for one of the hospices we worked with. They were not allowed to keep huge amounts of pain killers on hand. When a patient was therefore at the end stage, l got called in to dispense the medications. This was taken with the Polaroid l kept at work to take pictures of our customers for our wall of fame.

For years, l had been hiding the fact that l rode motorcycles from my mother! Whenever she visited from Nigeria, l made sure to hide my helmet and said the 3 bikes belonged to my roommates. I didn’t want to upset her. I can’t remember exactly how she found out, l think my friend mentioned it by accident, and l fessed up. I was waiting for the wrath. Instead, she told me a story.

My father was born in a teeny tiny little village, nothing around it for miles, no schools, hospitals..zip..! He was destined to be a servant, and did not know how to read or write. He ran away from home at some point to the big city. My mom was sent to a teaching school in another state. Long story short, she would go visit him from her school on weekends.

The distance was over 100 miles, and the only transportation she could afford was a scooter rental (I picture this thing like a 50cc scooter or something, this would have been in the ’40’s!). She learned how to drive this scooter and would visit him on the weekends, when she would teach him to read and write. She bought me this helmet, a super duper fancy and well cushioned Arai.

That was such a cool story to hear. I realized then, that l am truly a combination of my father and mother. He was a fiercely religious man who was kind to everyone,  to a fault even, and always turned the other cheek. He walked softly, and did not carry a stick.

My mother, on the other hand, though religious too, did NOT walk softly, AND carried a stick. She had no fear and did not let him be taken advantage of. Me? I walk softly, and l carry a stick (see..combo! :-) ). I married a man who does not walk softly, and carries a bat!!! :-) who doesn’t let me be taken advantage of.

Happy belated Mother’s day to Mummy, and all the great mothers out there. You rock! :-)

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