This weekend, I am in Columbus, Ohio for a football game that did not turn out the way I had hoped, but I also was able to spend some time with our older son, Nathan, who is away at college in Cleveland. As I usually do when on the road, I revisit a Sundays Are For Sebastian. This one comes from over four years ago when Seba was nine.
Sebastian is my nine-year old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
I have a stationary bike set up in the house so that I can ride during foul weather (or, in the case of my new home in Houston, if it is three thousand degrees outside). For years, Sebastian has asked if he could ride it. Convinced that he saw it as simply another toy to master, I have always refused, fearing that he would either injure himself or worse, damage the bike.
Recently I relented.
Sebastian: “Can I ride the exercise bike, pleeeeeaaaassssee?”
Me: “Sure.”
Sebastian: “Really??”
Me: “Sure.”
Pause.
Sebastian: “Do I need to wear my helmet?”
the drunken cyclist 