Dusk was fast creeping through the dampening atmosphere as we pulled into the car park at my children's new primary school. We've been attending only a matter of weeks and have had all of the "new kid" issues that go with a new school and then some...
The damp caressed the flesh as we excitedly leaped out of the car, daughters Colby, 8, Teagan, 6, and me lifting Jack, 10, into his wheelchair, helmets in hand, ready for the battle ahead:
The Annual Billy Cart Derby.
(NB: For those of you unaware, my son Jack wagers a daily battle against his non-compliant body. Disabled by a brain trauma injury he is formally diagnosed with quadriplegic cerebral palsy and traits of autism spectrum disorder. He and his sisters all go to this new school...and what an awesome institution it is.)
Real billy carts! These were the good old death traps from the days of old, built with old pram wheels, planks of discarded timber, ropes and ocky straps, chains and bad paint jobs. The haphazard vehicular concoction where you plunge down an incline unfettered by petty, silly things like brakes, accelerating into the hay bales unable to avoid the impending and inevitable injuries. Remember those?
And every construct you could imagine was proudly paraded before the entire anticipatory school community prior to the big race... Balloons cleverly engulfing the vehicle for "added buffering upon crash". Extra tinsel and bling as the girls were sure that would add to the experience. Some sparse and ready for impending destruction right up to a fully scaled VW combi billy cart (scoff) and every eclectic mix in between.
Families could construct their own billy carts and compete in the derby. Luckily, or perhaps conveniently, I have a kid on wheels :) Inspired by the recent winter Olympics and the madness of the luge/bobsled teams the kids and I had strategically designed a way of throwing ourselves all over Jack and his wheelchair so we could take the slope and ride the challenge together!
The construct began with the base of Jack's sports chair. It was ingenious design, balancing the weight with a calculated slight lean to Teagan's position by the rear (me). Rear position (mine) was with my feet on the mono-wheels (the two little wheels on the rear of the wheelchair to stop it go over backwards when we pull a mono) and gripping fiercely the handles. Jack was driving behind the cardboard, formula one designed, aerodynamic front wing at his feet (an illegal add-on). The girls on either side of the chair, elbow and knee guards on, helmets semi-hiding their humiliated faces, their chin-straps muffling their embarrassed "Mum!"s. Oh yes... Team Hocking had arrived.
The track itself was legendary: on the back hill of the school, it was steep and grassy, the hay bales placed either side of the track and for added adventure, right in the turn that was major crash zone the track was scattered with the sea-mine, indestructible, spiky balls of the chestnut tree (if you've ever sat on one of those...well, let me tell you from experience, you wouldn't do it twice). A turn at the bottom of the slope was the inevitable end for all bar two of the teams. And to add to it, the Police were attending (yep, real ones) with their speed guns, clocking our pace as we torn strips from the earth.
(Seriously, how many schools would do this?! Yes, we all signed ridiculous waivers :))
Reconnaissance: Jack and I took position amid the cheering audience. Teagan went to the bottom of the track looking like a marshall. Colby was checking things out at the start line. Jack and I were positioned right at crash zone where we saw kids stacking at spectacular speeds. A little girl ended up with 15 stitches amongst other minor injuries here and there. My son's contagious laughter guiding the crowd... laughter and cheering, family and community...
Our turn: We gathered at the start line. My eldest daughter was concerned she may not look good (Mum once again explaining "It's not about what you look like, it's about who you are!"). A hushed caution had taken the crowd. The commentator is introducing us: it became clear by his intro they were expecting a slow and precious walk down so the "disabled kid" could have a go.
They were so wrong. My son, the kid with no hope of physically saving himself, loves a good crash more than most normal humans.
We kicked off!
Kids hanging on, we had agreed we would all howl like the bobsledders and they did it proud. Hollering preemptive crash I powered behind the chair, thighs pumping, feet pounding the earth until I leapt upon the mono-wheels and took control! In the corner of my eye I could see the crowd agape in horror that we would do this! But, oh, the beam upon my boy's face, the encouragement my girls were yelling to one another...
The crowd rapidly warmed as we journeyed on and let themselves feel the courage and utter joy of my boy just being a boy :)
We had hit 47km/h according to the Police speed gun when Colby let go and tried to glamourously flick her hair, unglamorously came asunder and skewed off, a-spin into the right hand, hay barricade.
The cart's weight was compromised.
The dreaded corner was upon us...
Teagan and I clung for dear life, Jack raised his arms, "woohooing", in welcome of the inevitable...
Heeling to the right, Teagan and I with arms like rubber bands, our bodies denying the acceleration, the chair (billy cart) leapt from the earth and took air. Regaining land on the right, single, front wheel, we spewed and sprawled in a skidding, scattered, tangled mess across the track, sliding a gravelly glide in a multi-level heap to a thudding stop against the hay bails.
Silence.
We lay in a heap, not game to move for injury discovery. The horror struck crowd were holding their breath... all that could be heard was one legendary boy's hysterical laughter,
"Ha ha ha!!! Great crash, Mum! That was awesome! We did it, Mum! Let's do it again! What a great crash!"
Quick Epilogue: No injuries aquired. Much laughter from all parties. Rest assured I am no fool: All of us were safe. Jack was strapped in and braced as usual by Mum. And when we landed, by the time my body took the blow of the hay barricade, I had wrapped beneath the wheelchair and my son's helmeted head was upon my chest, vibrating with giggles.
As has always happened over the past decade, I have lightning reflexes: if my son is falling I will take the fall for him and he will land upon me. In every way :)
The damp caressed the flesh as we excitedly leaped out of the car, daughters Colby, 8, Teagan, 6, and me lifting Jack, 10, into his wheelchair, helmets in hand, ready for the battle ahead:
The Annual Billy Cart Derby.
(NB: For those of you unaware, my son Jack wagers a daily battle against his non-compliant body. Disabled by a brain trauma injury he is formally diagnosed with quadriplegic cerebral palsy and traits of autism spectrum disorder. He and his sisters all go to this new school...and what an awesome institution it is.)
Real billy carts! These were the good old death traps from the days of old, built with old pram wheels, planks of discarded timber, ropes and ocky straps, chains and bad paint jobs. The haphazard vehicular concoction where you plunge down an incline unfettered by petty, silly things like brakes, accelerating into the hay bales unable to avoid the impending and inevitable injuries. Remember those?
And every construct you could imagine was proudly paraded before the entire anticipatory school community prior to the big race... Balloons cleverly engulfing the vehicle for "added buffering upon crash". Extra tinsel and bling as the girls were sure that would add to the experience. Some sparse and ready for impending destruction right up to a fully scaled VW combi billy cart (scoff) and every eclectic mix in between.
Families could construct their own billy carts and compete in the derby. Luckily, or perhaps conveniently, I have a kid on wheels :) Inspired by the recent winter Olympics and the madness of the luge/bobsled teams the kids and I had strategically designed a way of throwing ourselves all over Jack and his wheelchair so we could take the slope and ride the challenge together!
The construct began with the base of Jack's sports chair. It was ingenious design, balancing the weight with a calculated slight lean to Teagan's position by the rear (me). Rear position (mine) was with my feet on the mono-wheels (the two little wheels on the rear of the wheelchair to stop it go over backwards when we pull a mono) and gripping fiercely the handles. Jack was driving behind the cardboard, formula one designed, aerodynamic front wing at his feet (an illegal add-on). The girls on either side of the chair, elbow and knee guards on, helmets semi-hiding their humiliated faces, their chin-straps muffling their embarrassed "Mum!"s. Oh yes... Team Hocking had arrived.
The track itself was legendary: on the back hill of the school, it was steep and grassy, the hay bales placed either side of the track and for added adventure, right in the turn that was major crash zone the track was scattered with the sea-mine, indestructible, spiky balls of the chestnut tree (if you've ever sat on one of those...well, let me tell you from experience, you wouldn't do it twice). A turn at the bottom of the slope was the inevitable end for all bar two of the teams. And to add to it, the Police were attending (yep, real ones) with their speed guns, clocking our pace as we torn strips from the earth.
(Seriously, how many schools would do this?! Yes, we all signed ridiculous waivers :))
Reconnaissance: Jack and I took position amid the cheering audience. Teagan went to the bottom of the track looking like a marshall. Colby was checking things out at the start line. Jack and I were positioned right at crash zone where we saw kids stacking at spectacular speeds. A little girl ended up with 15 stitches amongst other minor injuries here and there. My son's contagious laughter guiding the crowd... laughter and cheering, family and community...
Our turn: We gathered at the start line. My eldest daughter was concerned she may not look good (Mum once again explaining "It's not about what you look like, it's about who you are!"). A hushed caution had taken the crowd. The commentator is introducing us: it became clear by his intro they were expecting a slow and precious walk down so the "disabled kid" could have a go.
They were so wrong. My son, the kid with no hope of physically saving himself, loves a good crash more than most normal humans.
We kicked off!
Kids hanging on, we had agreed we would all howl like the bobsledders and they did it proud. Hollering preemptive crash I powered behind the chair, thighs pumping, feet pounding the earth until I leapt upon the mono-wheels and took control! In the corner of my eye I could see the crowd agape in horror that we would do this! But, oh, the beam upon my boy's face, the encouragement my girls were yelling to one another...
The crowd rapidly warmed as we journeyed on and let themselves feel the courage and utter joy of my boy just being a boy :)
We had hit 47km/h according to the Police speed gun when Colby let go and tried to glamourously flick her hair, unglamorously came asunder and skewed off, a-spin into the right hand, hay barricade.
The cart's weight was compromised.
The dreaded corner was upon us...
Teagan and I clung for dear life, Jack raised his arms, "woohooing", in welcome of the inevitable...
Heeling to the right, Teagan and I with arms like rubber bands, our bodies denying the acceleration, the chair (billy cart) leapt from the earth and took air. Regaining land on the right, single, front wheel, we spewed and sprawled in a skidding, scattered, tangled mess across the track, sliding a gravelly glide in a multi-level heap to a thudding stop against the hay bails.
Silence.
We lay in a heap, not game to move for injury discovery. The horror struck crowd were holding their breath... all that could be heard was one legendary boy's hysterical laughter,
"Ha ha ha!!! Great crash, Mum! That was awesome! We did it, Mum! Let's do it again! What a great crash!"
Quick Epilogue: No injuries aquired. Much laughter from all parties. Rest assured I am no fool: All of us were safe. Jack was strapped in and braced as usual by Mum. And when we landed, by the time my body took the blow of the hay barricade, I had wrapped beneath the wheelchair and my son's helmeted head was upon my chest, vibrating with giggles.
As has always happened over the past decade, I have lightning reflexes: if my son is falling I will take the fall for him and he will land upon me. In every way :)
1 comment:
Awesome! What an awesome family. Go get 'em Jack. And girls - you are amazing.
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