Wednesday, 11 May 2011

He's crashed, he's crashed.....

Early yesterday the email came through with photo attached to confirm Jack had taken yet another tumble and scuffed his knee, this time with real blood. Mrs D reliably informed me it was a most traumatic event and the boy was, to say the least, perturbed. In fact word on the street is he was pissed right off.

This of-course (as many things do) got me thinking. I slowly began to drift back to my childhood, a time when scuffed knees were very much the norm.

My growing up took place for the most part in the seventies and the summer of seventy-five will forever remain in my mind. Unless of course I lose my mind. Stuff happened in seventy-five. Graham Hill was killed in a plane crash, Ali beat Frazier in the thriller in Manila and the  IRA were blowing the shit out of just about everything they could.

As for me? I was growing up, learning how to live in the word and how to have fun. I was also picking up my share of scuffed knees and bumped elbows.

As an eight year old boy in the mid seventies I had my fair share of heroes.  Of course they would change from time to time  but nevertheless there was always one of two that could join me in my world of make-believe, the sort of world no self respecting eight year old should be without. In the summer of 1975 mine was Tarzan. A mighty hero at the time with his tree swinging ways and shouty call that would strike fear into the very soul of man and or best. And of course there was the Tarzan

My Mum made me a pair of the afore mentioned Tarzan shorts. She had fashioned then with all her cunning from a pair of blue Y fronts (the Y was white) and two half circles of imitation leather. A sight to behold and no mistake. I topped this off with my trusty Tarzan plastic knife and off I went running round the village with nothing else on what so ever, doing the Tarzan shouty thing and living the dream.

I had no idea of the disaster that was about to befall me as I ran past the wobbly old stranger on that sunny afternoon. I remember looking back over my shoulder and doing the Tarzan shouty thing, I remember the Cotswold stone wall and I remember bouncing.  To be honest I'm not entirely sure what was going through my mind as I slid down the path clad in stingers and sunshine, I do however remember the pain for days after.  Needless to say I ultimately survived, not only this crash, but countless others. The scuff and bumps I accumulated as a child were I suspect pretty much the same as the ones Jack will acquire. A consequence of growing up, lets hope we continue to survive it eh?