Whatever Happened To Bikes?

Lately I’ve found myself asking a question I never thought I’d need to ask: When did kids stop riding bikes and start driving golf carts?

Seriously. I remember neighborhoods full of kids. They were walking to their friends’ houses, riding bicycles, playing ball in the street, building questionable forts out of scrap lumber, and generally staying outside until somebody’s mom started yelling their name from a front porch. Now I leave to run errands and find myself following a twelve-year-old driving a golf cart decorated like a Fourth of July parade float. Apparently that’s normal now.

Maybe I’m showing my age, but it seems odd that kids who aren’t old enough to have a driver’s license somehow have access to vehicle keys. They’re driving around the same streets where the rest of us are headed to work, the grocery store, doctor’s appointments, and everywhere else... and before anyone says, “Well, if you had a golf cart when your kids were young, they’d have driven it too,” you’re probably right. They absolutely would have.

That’s because kids will drive anything with wheels if you let them. But should we let them? Part of being a kid was getting places under your own power. You walked. You rode your bike. You burned off enough energy that your parents didn’t have to wonder why you were bouncing off the walls at bedtime.

The other thing that worries me is that driving a golf cart around a neighborhood can create a false sense of confidence. When you’ve spent years cruising around at fifteen miles an hour while everybody watches out for you, it’s easy to think you’ve mastered driving.

Then one day you’re handed the keys to an actual car and discover traffic has considerably less patience than Mrs. Johnson and her poodle. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe this is just another one of those moments where I realize the world changed while I wasn’t paying attention. But I still think it’s strange that the kids have vehicles. The golf carts have cup holders. And the bicycles are sitting in the garage wondering what happened.

The Next Super Hero Could Be A Kid With Star Power

Look, the odds are pretty slim that any of us are raising the next President or a movie star with a ten-bedroom mansion in Beverly Hills. (Honestly, I consider it a massive win if my kid just manages to put their shoes on the correct feet before noon). But while we might not be raising Hollywood royalty, we can absolutely raise good humans.

We can teach our kids that making a big impact usually comes down to doing the little things right. It’s about teaching them to be genuinely kind to others, to volunteer their time, and to be deeply thoughtful. The whole "it's all about me" attitude is exhausting—trust me, I have lived with a tiny dictator who thought the sun raised and sat on their snack schedule. We have to gently remind them that the world doesn't actually revolve around them, and that worrying about someone other than ourselves is a beautiful thing.

Whether it's helping a neighbor carry groceries, volunteering a few hours, or just being there for a friend in need, those small acts of thoughtfulness often leave the biggest mark. Deciding to make a difference in someone else's life just because you can? Now that is true star power.

Trying Something New

I'm attempting to learn Haiku poetry—and it's not going well. As someone who loves long, flowery, free-flowing verse, Haiku feels rigid and unnatural to me. Five syllables, then seven, then five again? It feels like poetry with a straitjacket on. But I'm determined to give it a shot, so you'll find the occasional Haiku sprinkled throughout this blog. Fair warning: they'll probably be terrible.

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Flowery Verses

Mine arrive with muddy boots

Tracking through the pages

*Gag*

I’m classy, sassy and a bit badassy

Classy, Sassy, and a Bit Badassy

I think I’ve reached the age where I know exactly who I am.

I’m classy. I like things a certain way. I like to look put together, have a pretty home, use my manners, and treat people with kindness. I believe there is still something to be said for carrying yourself well and having standards.

But let’s not confuse classy with quiet.

Because I’m also a little sassy.

I have opinions. Lots of them. My face usually announces them before my mouth even gets a chance. I laugh at things I probably shouldn’t. I use sarcasm as a second language, and sometimes my filter clocks out before I do.

And then there is that tiny little badassy side.

That’s the part of me that survived the hard things, built a life, raised kids, ran a business, made mistakes, learned lessons, and kept going. It’s the part that says, “Nope, not doing that,” without needing everyone to understand why.

When you’re younger, you spend so much time trying to figure out who you are and worrying about what everyone thinks.

Then one day you realize… I’m good.

Not perfect. Not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s perfectly fine.

I can wear lipstick, love pretty things, cry over a memory, spoil my grandkids, speak my mind, stand my ground, and still have a little sparkle while doing it.

Classy enough to know better.

Sassy enough to say it anyway.

And just badassy enough to be myself.