When I was a little kid Dad got me a tricycle, a small three-wheeled vehicle that children are supposta ride for fun.
“This will allow you to go faster and further than your legs can take you,” Dad said. “It can lead to many new adventures. Just like when I drive us all on vacations to far off and exciting places like Grammy’s, The Beach, and Disney World.”
“Alright,” I said.
We took it out to the top of the driveway where it was paved and flat. Then I sat down on the seat, put my hands on the handlebars and my feet on the pedals. I looked down at the lower, steeper part of the driveway.
“It’s alright,” Dad said. “I’ve got you.”
Then he stood beside me and put his hand on my back. I started moving my feet and the trike went forward.
“Great job!” Dad said.
Together we made the tricycle make many successful loops.
“Yay! I like this,” I said.
The next time I decided to ride the tricycle on my own without Dad. I took it out to the driveway myself and started pedaling, but it wasn’t like before. I made one bad sloppy loop, which pointed me straight toward the bottom of the steep part. Then gravity started moving the tricycle down on its own at a very fast speed. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know how to make it stop. It just kept going, faster and faster, all the way until I crashed at the bottom. The tricycle tipped over with me on it. My head hit the pavement, and it made me scream. Dad heard from inside and came out.
“What happened?” he said.
“I’m never gonna again,” I cried.