The recovery period was grueling and painful but it gave me the unexpected gifts of resilience and empathy
The day after I turned nine, 27 August 1961, I conquered the bicycle. After weeks of wobbly, failed attempts while on vacation at my older cousin Lillian’s house in Michigan, I had finally done it! I got on that bike and away I went. I turned a corner without falling and rode back to the porch, where my friends whooped and hollered in celebration.
The cheers faded suddenly. Everyone stared at me. Lillian, zombie-eyed with her mouth open, held a shotgun pointed downwards. Somehow, I hadn’t heard it.
Continue reading… The recovery period was grueling and painful but it gave me the unexpected gifts of resilience and empathyThe day after I turned nine, 27 August 1961, I conquered the bicycle. After weeks of wobbly, failed attempts while on vacation at my older cousin Lillian’s house in Michigan, I had finally done it! I got on that bike and away I went. I turned a corner without falling and rode back to the porch, where my friends whooped and hollered in celebration.The cheers faded suddenly. Everyone stared at me. Lillian, zombie-eyed with her mouth open, held a shotgun pointed downwards. Somehow, I hadn’t heard it. Continue reading… Life and style, Gun crime, Mental health, US news, Society, Psychiatry
