Dirt Bike -5minutefreewrite

For https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-713-5-minute-freewrite-thursday-prompt-dirt-bike

Dirt bike. Dirt bike. What is there to say about a dirt bike? Dirt. Dirt. We are dirt. We ride bikes. I think my dad probably taught me to ride a bike. I don’t remember learning. I remember instances of biking. I think I vaguely remember the joy of realizing a big open parking lot was fun to ride my bike around. How did I learn? I wonder if mom remembers. I played a lot of basketball with my dad. You know what’s funny? I was playing basketball for the first time in a long time with our new rommate, Ian, who is 15 years younger than us. Well, 14. Anyways. It made me wonder if that was how my dad felt playing against me. I mean, obviously he was much older than me than that when we played, but he was always better until I was at least a teen ager and then some. And so really there’s no excuse for my being able to beat the 20 something at basketball. He was great at hook shots, or at least I remember him talking about them. He’d played in high school. I’ve told this story before, but don’t stop me. When he was on the high school basketball team and running out onto the field he flipped off the whole crowd. Why? Well he’d seen his friends flipping each other off, and so he thought it was a cool, friendly greeting. I love my dad. He had degrees in Computer Science, Math, and Physics. He’d studied architecture. I always thought that someday he’d design a house to my specifications when I was finally someday able to afford a house. It was a dream I had. When I was a kid that dream included a slide from the second floor.