On Saturday, I watched as Aaron rode his bike, at full-speed, into the back right side of our neighbor's Corvette. It was parked half way across the side walk, and I guess he didn't see it or expect it there. Life isn't fair: why couldn't it have been an old Volkswagon? They want the tiny scratches that you wouldn't even blink over on a different car fixed, and the side panel buffed and repainted. I am unhappily waiting in fear for the estimate, but...life is still good: Aaron wasn't hurt, even though both he and his bike flew about five feet and gave me a small heart attack. I was expecting a broken collarbone after watching as his whole body slammed into the car and then flew backwards but Aaron was fine, and he couldn't understand why I would "overreact" and make him come in from riding his bike for a few minutes and sit down. I asked him if he was sore today. He told me: "Not at all". He has been instructed to avoid hitting stationary objects in the future, especially sports cars.
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