After a particularly brutal chase of I forget what type, during which I'm pretty sure we killed each other a dozen times or so, he started weaving. I wove wilder. He wove insanely. I switched to a high-speed, fast wobble, which got out of control and I ended up doing a headstand at 5 or 10 MPH. Screaming, I jumped back on the bike, raced home, with Clifford trying to keep up with this madman, ran in and (again) denied I had done anything. In fact, Clifford must have cut me off!
I wasn't a habitual liar. But somewhere between panic (blood from my head!), pain, shock, and embarassment I'd lost it. Mom put me on restriction from playing with "that kid" for life. It was several years before I admitted it had been my fault. Clifford forgave me, figured I had been out of it. I don't think my Mom ever really believed that, and last I knew, she still thought it was Clifford's fault. She did let us play together the last year I was in El Paso. We'd had to play together as outlaws til then. I lost a couple of years of excellent friendship because I couldn't accept responsibility for my own mistakes, and it would have served me right to have lost his friendship forever.
Moral: Stupidity is its own reward.
Copyright 1995,2001 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved. Miles O'Neal <meo@XYZZY.rru.com> [remove the "XYZZY." to make things work!] c/o RNN / 1705 Oak Forest Dr / Round Rock, TX / 78681-1514