I drive by lots of kids on bikes every day as I take my daughter to school. I’m careful to give them wide berth as I pass, but other than that, they barely register in my mind.
And then there’s you. Riding your unicycle.
Riding your unicycle.
You wear jeans and jacket and helmet and backpack, like all the other kids cycling to school. Except that they do it on two wheels, you on one.
The first time I saw you, I did a double take. Needed to make sure my eyes were communicating properly to my brain. Since then, I see you and I smile. Sometimes I laugh. Not at you–never at you. But I do laugh, joy chuckling out of me at the sheer unexpectedness of your studious face, of your arms balance-checking, of your legs pumping the pedals of that one wheel up the hill to the school.
The sight of you each morning injects a hopeful tenacity into my soul.
With admirable seriousness, you achieve the preposterous. On every good-weather day available to you.