There's a moment in every kid's life when you realize the world runs on rules — and that some people follow them, and others... test them.
I didn't test them to be rebellious.
I tested them because I didn't stop to ask whether I was supposed to.
And the thing about edges is: once you find one, you start wondering where the next one is.
* * *
By eighth grade, Sam and I had turned Waterloo into our personal proving ground. We rode bikes everywhere — streets, trails, parking lots, The Woods — but the river was the real proving ground. There was a narrow dock along the bank that sloped just enough to tempt idiots like me.
One afternoon, I told Sam, "Watch this. I've done it before."
I hit the dock at full speed, planning to lock my brakes at the edge like a stuntman. Instead, I grabbed too much front brake, flipped over my handlebars, and launched myself directly into the river.
When I surfaced, coughing and thrashing, Sam was doubled over laughing so hard he nearly fell in with me. I yelled at him to grab my bike before it sank. Only then did I realize I still had my backpack on — full of waterlogged schoolbooks and a borrowed Guns N' Roses: Appetite for Destruction cassette tape that did not survive the stunt.
But that was the pattern:
Test the edge.
Crash into the consequences.
Laugh, learn, repeat.
The same thing happened with Jason's moped — twice.
This became a chapter in 9 Lives & Counting — out December 2026.
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