TheMorrisonFamilyBlog

 It had been a long, long time. Unbelievably, time did NOT standstill. People came and went in our lives. It had been fourteen years since I last saw the person who forever will be known as "MY BEST FRIEND." There's no need to hide anything. I was nervous. Those five tenants who rented my uterus for nine months at a time were less than friendly to my body. Not that it should matter, he saw my best and worst side for two years, and now should be no different. Saturday time DID standstill. It seemed to drag on and on. I was introduced to his son. It was like looking through a time machine...he had the same hands, fingers, and fingernails as his dad and his bottom lip matched his. They had the same neck and the shape of their eyes. Wow! Genes are pretty amazing ! I stood against the chain link fence, #72 embedded in my line of vision. He was at the starting line and I was ready to watch him race . It would be the first time I'd seen him race--something he loved. This was...

 Listen to your mother. I told him it would happen. I told both my boys. And, it happened. My oldest, smart enough to graduate high school , yet not wise enough to take his mother’s advice, broke his collarbone while in Colorado . Eerily ironic, my lesson came at the age of five weeks after turning 16. This same weekend, two decades ago, my cousin, days away from signing a professional motocross contract with Malcolm Smith, raced his home track. It was day two of the weekend race. His bike had acted up the day prior, and he’d spent the night awake on fine-tuning it, tweaking the engine to assure the day's victory. With the first lap behind him, my cousin’s bike’s engine seized as he headed up the face of a jump. My cousin rotated forward, up and over the orange bike’s handlebars. Rider and bike separate. He lands, the bike finds him and crashes onto his back, leaving him on the track, paralyzed. A dirt bike I told my child never to get on. Not this one. Not anyone. “ No dirt bikes...