Long ago, yesterday was (apparently) set as a day of destiny, a day when young, teenage, Brisbanian, Aussie boys were meant to meet what is known in my homeland as "Texas Justice." No, Dr. Phil wasn't in town. They met Texas Justice in the form of a tall, dark, intense, protective, foreign mum, namely ME. I had already run down one teenage boy in the morning, but my Friday adventures were far from over.
Right after school, my little troupe of lively girls had been put on bike and packed into my trailer at school. We had to cross the street, to get to the other side, just like in the joke. We have crossed this street every day without any problems, but like I said, this day was a day of destiny. On this afternoon, we were walking alongside some teenagers from the local high school. There was one huge boy. He outweighed me by at least half my weight. He stood at least 6 inches taller than my thin athletic frame. He was flirting with a group of girls and simultaneously trying to chuck a nearby friend off of the bike his friend was riding, while also kicking a smaller miserable-looking boy. This ragged crowd crossed the street with no problems, but when we got to the other side, Jordan began to get in the way as she peddled past. No one moved aside. Perhaps being considerate had not been taught at home or school to this motley crowd. At any rate, this huge boy was wandering back and forth across the footpath, creating mischief. I wouldn't have intervened, normally, but he started reeling toward my little girl, his carelessness threatening to knock her off her bike and into a thorny fence.
Now you must know a little background before I go on with the story. I sing, and thus have a set of power lungs that came in handy during this episode. Now, if you haven't heard me sing, maybe you are thinking, "Oh yes, lullabies, humming, sweet melodies, etc." If you were thinking along those lines, let me humbly correct you. I was the lead gospel soloist in our choir at church during University for a time, and I sang loud and lively gospel solos in front of thousands of people about once a month, or once every other month, for a couple of years. (Now, when you are a Christian and have a set of lungs like I think I have, sometimes the temptation is to think about how you can "use your talent for God" and also fulfill your own selfish dreams of grandeur, perhaps by becoming a Christian diva--because *sarcastically* God really needs one more shallow Christian diva like I was back then, like I may even tend to be now, claiming to represent Him. Of course, God never intended me to be a diva of any sort!) As I have matured, I have come to peace with the fact that my voice is meant for God's and for my family's enjoyment. These days the voice has been tabled from gospel solos and put to better use singing lullabies and harmonies over beloved Cd's in my home, but my lungs still remember volume, even after years of hibernation. In this story they are about to be brandished in a time of great need.
Another interesting bit of information you should know is that with all the cycling, Greg bought me a "camelback" water tank that resides in a little backpack. Cycling three hours a day three times a week puts me in serious need of further hydration, and the camelback allows me to drink water as I go, without stopping. I thought the camelback was quite normal, but my Aussie friends have never seen anything like it. Young and old can't take their eyes of me when I drink from it. They seem to view it as anything from a dummy (pacifier) to a scuba tank. As if I wasn't odd enough with my huge personality, since I have been in Brisbane the camelback has added new dimension to my "originality". It would be enough to often be confused while cycling with the postman, to be sweaty all the time, and to be scantily clad in the heat. To top it all off, I also have this strange looking life-support-ish alien tank on my back with a tube running to my mouth most of the time, very odd and bordering on scary to my friends here in Oz.
So, back to my story. The big blond hoodlum was reeling toward my little innocent girl on her bike. He was only a foot away when I sprang into action. I stood on my peddles pumping to catch up to him. I was all of seven feet tall. My muscles were bulging with sweat and exertion, and I'm sure the veins in my neck were swollen as my eyes bugged out of my head. With the alien lifeform on my back, magnifying my already tall frame, and with my long hair streaming out madly behind me, I spit out my scuba-tube camelback bite valve, and started to bellow at him with my huge lungs, "MOOOOOOOOOVE OUUUUUUUUT of the WAAAAAAAAAAY!" The sound of my voice was so loud that it even shocked my own ears as it reverberated inside my head.
I had already run down one teenage boy on my bike that day, and the experience had made me even braver than I was before. I was sure that I could run this huge guy down, and attempt a citizen's arrest (hopefully they have this in Australia) if he wanted to knock Jordan down. Fortunately, for him, the deafening sound of my voice blew him back from the path. He turned toward me, his eyes as large as saucers, the color draining from his already pale face as my sound waves burst his eardrums and blew his yellow hair back from his face. As he staggered backward, marvelling at the magnitude of the sound from my super-human lungs, my little girl peddled to safety and all 350 lbs of bike, trailer, and me, complete with the freaky alien on my back, flew by him.
I thought of the boy that I had run over (read the previous entry for details) earlier in the day, and then this latest poor, deaf teenage casualty of my expatriate adventures, pensively after the fact. Now, I know I am not mild-mannered, but Friday revealed the fierce beast that lives inside me, the maniacally odd, hilarious one that defends my kids. As I think over yesterday, fits of laughter keep washing over me; I keep laughing harder and harder, until the tears roll down my smiley, freckled cheeks.
I think I'll have to add to my earlier description of myself, after this latest incident. As much as I would like to be, I not yet deep or thoughtful. I am not yet noble or wise. I am a frightening, loud Texan alien in a foreign country. I run over teenage boys with my bike and scare the living daylights out of them with my superhuman voice. After I have accomplished these terrible feats, I laugh. I laugh uncontrollably at how crazy I am, at how good life can be; and I thank God for the gifts of humor and anonymity.
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