Second hand smoke, or second hand spoke?

Each day we have a chance, chances. A new opportunity, opportunities. To get stuff right. All stuff. Any stuff.

Life offers us endless possibilities to start anew and stop a bad. Like riding a bicycle, hop on, begin peddling, the spoke go round and round and round and round and round.. you get my drift. Why cause a rift?

Yeah. Small and seemingly insignificant, the spoke on your bike’s wheels are quiet and out of the way. Almost providing a thankless job. No one notices them when everything is working well, but without proper set up and operation all sorts of trouble will break lose. This is really not a small, insignificant thing at all.

Round and round and round and round we go. Where we stop, nobody knows.

Becky paid no attention to the spoke on her bike as she peddled. When Becky started her bicycle ride this one fine day, she felt life’s possibilities endless! As she winded along on the country roads, Becky listened to music. Not too loud that she could not hear her surroundings, but loud enough to hear a song that replayed in her mind.

We are often told when young that when riding a bicycle, once learned, is never forgotten. It becomes embedded into our memory. Our muscle memory.

As she peddled along on this glorious summer day, a song came into Becky’s ear……..

”How do rumors get started”, started by the jealous people and They get mad see in’ some thin’ they had and somebody else is hold in’ They tell me that temptation is very hard to resist. These wicked women, ooh they just persist Maybe you think it’s cute, but girl I’m not impressed (TSC)

I tell you one time only with my business people don’t mess”.

The lyrical verses came into Becky’s mind as she peddled and

peddled and peddled and peddled along. It was a beautiful day. The birds were singing. The sun was shining. The song verses played on as she cycled on and she began to feel a familiar ness with them. She began to pedal in rhythm to the music.

Hmm, she thought. This song means. What? She pondered as she glided along. Becky’s memory had taken her over as if she effortlessly moved the pedals, wheels that spoke. Looking around at the beauty of the day, she likened the words of the song to the people in her circle of life. Her friends, her family, her church parishioners, her corner store clerks, the local drug store, the law enforcement, the library. The school playground.

All the good.

Except this song playing into her mind at this moment on this glorious day, made Becky pause. Rumors. Like blowing smoke—stories that are simply made up. Could be un true. How do we know, If there is a truth being told? Is the truth rarely told. Is one person’s truth another person’s lie? Or their truth to live with.

Becky’s mind wandered to the playground at school. Gossip, a staple of young middle school drama life, was told everyday by one classmate or another. Who knew what was new, old, a fable, truth or embellished story told to cause a rift. A crack. A divide. Between friends, or enemies for that matter.

Stories abounded day in and day out. As immature kids do, they make stuff up. As she glided along Becky had learned to dismiss most of the stories she heard daily. Although they did not always get it right, Becky’s parents took seriously the concepts of right and wrong.. to pass on the best advice. Proper rearing for proper steering.

All of the sudden she hit a bump in the road and tumbled off her bicycle and landed on her tush. Ouch. At that moment, she gathered herself and her thoughts. She sat next to her bicycle that had turned upside down in the tumble. She manually moved the wheels and checked the spokes. All seemed ok. Beck actually felt a little embarrassed. She looked around as if to see if anyone witnessed her clumsiness. Actually no one was within miles. Hmm. She thought.

Her bike ride had just hit a bump, a rift in the road. Before she could notice, the song in her mind was still on replay, and she sat on the side of the road next to her bike and listened. Hmm. She kinda of agreed with some of the thoughts being sung.

How do rumors get started. And how abruptly they can get started and go on and on and on and on like the spinning of a wheel. For sometimes years. As Becky sat on the ground and spun her upside down bicycle wheel around. When does the rumor start, when it does start, when does it end? And how does one know who to believe.

Still rather young Becky had yet to experience a significant blow to her innocence. A good thing. But how does one measure the stories of a life, of daily life. A crack in the armor? How does one rebound? To learn an important lesson, perhaps we must land on our tush from time to time. She thought.

Learn an important lesson. The opposite of the go and cause, create trouble, just to alleviate boredom. Not unusual for a young kid. For sure. But the song playing in her ears seemed to be talking about grown ups. And their stories, jealousies and problems.

How did grown ups get to be so “story-telling”. According to this song about rumors, there are quite a few humdingers being told on and about other adults. Becky was an astute young person and she began to think.

Her parents had taught her that unless information comes, “straight from the horses mouth” she had learned it best to dismiss the fictional accounts of youthdom. The stories being narrated on the school playground about this person or that person.

“If you cannot say anything nice, do not say anything at all”. Becky’s repeated in her mind.

But what about the grown ups? Do they really poke their noses into others’ business so much—as this song sings— and then lie about the person? The outcome. That sounds rather mean. Why?

Blowing smoke just to bow smoke. To hurt another seemed rather. Again. Well. Mean.

Becky, picked herself up, dusted herself off, checked her wheels, her spokes, hopped onto her bicycle and peddled along again. It was such a beautiful day, she had no time to think about anything but the truth. Good or bad. Knowing what it is, is what it is.

Truth. Is like goodness. And riding a bike. Once learned is never forgotten.