( – promoted by buhdydharma )
So, I decided to bike my four year old son, Truman, to school this morning.
We’ve just gotten one of those trail behind extensions that turns my beach cruiser into a double-bike.
Well, really, TRUMAN’S double bike.
“That’s MY double bike,” he’ll tell anyone who will listen.
I’m… apparently… little more than the hired sherpa.
Anyway, we set out to riding and not a minute into the trip… “THERE’S BARACK OBAMA!”
Now, Truman has had some “issues” with the whole Black People All Look Like Barack Obama syndrome, so I fully expected to see some random African American gentleman standing on the corner, but NO… it was… instead a red, white and blue BARACK OBAMA yard sign like the one we have on our front lawn.
My first thought… how cool is it that the first word Truman has learned how to “read” is Barack Obama.
My second thought… OH CRAP IN MY SPLIT FOCUS I’VE JUST RIDDEN STRAIGHT THROUGH A STOP SIGN AND ALMOST GOTTEN US KILLED BY THAT NICE LADY IN THE PRIUS!
“Sorry nice lady in the Prius! Sorry. My bad!”
Anyway, we go back to riding and not two seconds later… “THERE’S BARACK OBAMA!”
On a car bumper… on a front door… in a shop window… on a t-shirt.
And each time… “THERE’S BARACK OBAMA!” Truman yells with gusto!
The ride from my house to New School West is fifteen minutes long, during which time, I was able to experience three glorious parental moments… enjoy what passes for autum in Los Angeles, California… have an in depth and emotionally meaningful conversation about whether pirates or ninjas were “more badder”… and — VIA “THERE’S BARACK OBAMA!” — teach Truman to count all the way up to 53!