In the Urban Forest of our local park, Mama Bear [that would be me] was walking six paces behind her cub. Said cub was peddling the strangest of bikes on the paved track. A three-wheeled contraption. An adult-sized trike. Manufactured for cubs like my own who, because of motor-related disAbilities, cannot navigate an adult two-wheeler.

Cub peddles happily along, oblivious to the six- and eight-year-old male creatures who have stopped to watch her. Their heads rotate on their necks 180.

At first Mama Cub surpresses her compulsions, stifles her voice and bites her tongue. Then after she passes the two small creatures, still standing, still stradling their two-wheelers, she says to herself: "Say it!"

And she does.

She looks back over her shoulder while continuing to walk: "Cool-looking bike, huh, Guys?!"

They nod. Cub is still peddling along. Mama Bear strides off. With an inner smirk.