TBH you don’t need to go nearly this far back or have the responsible parent home. One of my earliest memories today was my dad putting me on the back of his 600cc bike in the early 90s. I must of been 4-6 and my family wasn’t particularly irresponsible or getting into trouble.
Oh yeah, rode with my dad constantly as a kid in the 90s. He even let me take the handlebars.
Once he crashed riding a new bike home right in front of me, my mom and my brother, that was it for me for a while. He nearly died. I jumped out of the car and ran up to him, I was sure he was dead. His tongue was busted and stuck to his lip with a rock in it, he had bloody gravel where there used to be skin on his shoulders and he was making strange groaning noises. I immediately turned and ran as fast as I could to the nearest house (at least a few miles) and banged on the door screaming. I was 9 years old and running on pure adrenaline. The lady called 911 and drove me back to the scene of the crash. The ambulance arrived a few minutes after we did. My brother hadn’t left the car, he was just sitting there as pale as a ghost looking at the scene with a terrified, far away expression. My mom was sitting by my dad screaming and trying to get him to respond to her.
He spent more than a month in the hospital and multiple months in the bed at home.
He was never the same after that. He never stopped taking the pills he got for his injuries. That problem escalated to every drug he could get his hands on. Everything was downhill from there. He had already been taking tylox for a back injury and struggling with that. He went to high doses of onxycontin after that accident.
It took me a long time to forgive him for what he became, and I probably never would have if I hadn’t ended up addicted myself.
Holy shit, sorry to ruin the fun. I hadn’t thought about that in years and years. I don’t know why the memory popped up on me like that. I’ve seen this picture a hundred times and haven’t thought about it at all.
TBH you don’t need to go nearly this far back or have the responsible parent home. One of my earliest memories today was my dad putting me on the back of his 600cc bike in the early 90s. I must of been 4-6 and my family wasn’t particularly irresponsible or getting into trouble.
Oh yeah, rode with my dad constantly as a kid in the 90s. He even let me take the handlebars.
Once he crashed riding a new bike home right in front of me, my mom and my brother, that was it for me for a while. He nearly died. I jumped out of the car and ran up to him, I was sure he was dead. His tongue was busted and stuck to his lip with a rock in it, he had bloody gravel where there used to be skin on his shoulders and he was making strange groaning noises. I immediately turned and ran as fast as I could to the nearest house (at least a few miles) and banged on the door screaming. I was 9 years old and running on pure adrenaline. The lady called 911 and drove me back to the scene of the crash. The ambulance arrived a few minutes after we did. My brother hadn’t left the car, he was just sitting there as pale as a ghost looking at the scene with a terrified, far away expression. My mom was sitting by my dad screaming and trying to get him to respond to her.
He spent more than a month in the hospital and multiple months in the bed at home.
He was never the same after that. He never stopped taking the pills he got for his injuries. That problem escalated to every drug he could get his hands on. Everything was downhill from there. He had already been taking tylox for a back injury and struggling with that. He went to high doses of onxycontin after that accident.
It took me a long time to forgive him for what he became, and I probably never would have if I hadn’t ended up addicted myself.
Holy shit, sorry to ruin the fun. I hadn’t thought about that in years and years. I don’t know why the memory popped up on me like that. I’ve seen this picture a hundred times and haven’t thought about it at all.