PROMISE

Bout 1959, Dad cabbaged onto an old Cushman motorscooter.

It was old as dirt, likely was cheap as dirt, but it had wheels and a motor and I was in love.

To start that puppy, one had to raise a "kick start" lever on the front of the engine. I reckon grown men could just rest their weight on the "kick start" lever, but 8-9 year old slim butt boys had to jump as high as they could in the air and POUND down on the metal arm sticking out to depress it sufficiently to crank the engine.

I now know that the Cushmans had an inherent design defect in that the flywheel would crack from heat stress and not produce the necessary spark to crank and run the engine.

All I knew back then was that if if could make that puppy start, I could ride like a king with the wind in my hair, with my troubles (what the hell "troubles" could a kid have?) behind me.

Now see ole ponchito, yeah all 40 pounds of me, jumping all day long on that starting lever and trying to ignite that magnificent (red) machine.

I remember that the bottom of my foot would get so sore from jumping on the metal lever that I didn't want a powder puff to touch it? But it didn't deter me from my fated mission of a NASA launch.

Some days I got that sucka started and rode it in circles until it ran out of fuel. Some days I just laid in the shade with my tongue hanging out from the exhaustion of Olympic leaping on the start lever?

Regardless, it represented a "promise". If I put in the requisite amount of hope, ambition, and good ole fashion work, there existed the possibility of reward.

What can I say? Bust your butt (all day, every day), give it all ya got, and who knows, maybe you will have the thrill of the ride, the wind in your hair, and the unadulterated joy of mobility (or whatever your heart's desire may be)!