Growing Up in the Hood

I am an only child. Am I spoiled? Absolutely not. Overprotected? Absolutely.

Until I was married, I had never ridden on a lawn mower. My mother had a co-worker who stuck her hand down on the ground while riding hers, and let's just say that the outcome was rather unpleasant. Apparently, I would have been dumb enough to try that myself, so I was not allowed near ours.

I was not allowed to ride my bike outside my driveway. When you live on one acre of land, that makes for a dull adventure. Thus, I never got past the training wheels stage until I was 21. To this day, I still have a death grip on the handle bars which takes so much energy that I cannot ride very far.

I could go on and on, but I am sure that you get the point.

Being without brothers and sisters made me especially close to my cousins. We hung out frequently, usually at my grandparents' house. I found pictures of all of us running around in the yard that brought back lots of fond memories. This was until I realized one common denominator in all of them - I'm the one in the hood.

According to my mother, when it's windy outside you are automatically doomed to catch any virus that you may have been in contact with during the last 5 years. In her view, that hood saved my life on multiple occasions.

If Mom was in my general vicinity, she had an uncanny telekinetic power that would trigger an alarm if I had secretly pushed it down. Then she would appear out of nowhere and ensure that the hood was returned to its proper location.

If she had told me the hood was an invisibility cloak or wearing the hood was a great disguise for a top secret spy, I would have embraced the idea. But no, it had to be a medical reason. I am positive that this issue alone has caused my borderline hypochondria to this day.

Anyway, everyone else got to run free in the wind without fear of death and debilitating sickness. But me? I was the one in the hood.

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