I Taught My Son to Ride and Three Weeks Later I Had to Bury His Helmet

lawns and fixing neighbors’ lawnmowers.

On the gas tank, in the same hand-painted script my grandfather had painted on the side of his barn in 1962 — TO DAD, LOVE, CALEB.

The key was in the ignition.

There was a box next to the back tire. Cardboard. Taped shut. Caleb’s handwriting on the top: OPEN AFTER YOU SEE THE BIKE.

I opened the box.

Inside was a brand continue reading …