Youth.
That’s the size of the red bike helmet with pink tiger stripes. It arrived in the mail for my daughter. (Not for me! I would have picked butterflies.)
The size? I’ll say it again: Youth!
With an exclamation point. As in, “daggone” or “are you kidding me?!?”
Because that’s the way it made me feel when I read it.
More like: Youch!
The old bike helmet had started fitting her like a Yamaka. Like one of those silly, undersized hats that monkeys sometimes wear.
I had tried to loosen up the plastic strapping and press it down hard on her head. “Suck in your breath!” I told her. “I think we can squeeze it on if I get the rubber mallet.”
But the “child” size helmet, which had long ago replaced the “toddler” size helmet, was done.
We stared at each other in disbelief.
What did this mean?
Certainly not that my darling baby girl had become a “youth.” Could a bike helmet really be the arbiter of that?
We both cried. I cursed the world.
Here’s Merriam-Webster’s definition of youth: “The time of life when someone is young.”
Here’s another definition — the one that will make a parent like me wet his pants: “The period between childhood and maturity.”
Gulp!
“Between childhood …” — as in no longer there? “… and maturity” — where she’s heading like a wild cheetah?
Way to lay it on heavy, Merriam-Webster. Have you no decency? No respect for a poor parent coming to terms with his daughter growing up?
And you, bike helmet company. What’s with your obviously ridiculous naming conventions? Jumping from “child” to “youth?” Why don’t you be utterly cruel and just call it “college-bound” or “no longer daddy’s little girl?” Or “she’s going to leave you one day, loser?”
Have a little respect. Throw some other sizes in there, like “child 2.0” or “youth-ish” or “dude, chill, she’s still little.” These are sizes parents can get behind.
Now I have an ulcer thanks to a tag on a bike helmet. Ironic that with all its shock absorption properties, no one warns parents that hidden symbolism and meaning in the size can give you a concussion.
It’s not a bike helmet’s job to clue me into reality. My daughter lost one of her molars. She’s a couple days away from finishing second grade. Chicken and biscuits! She’s going into third grade! I’ve got all the reality I can handle.
I don’t need a lecture from a bike helmet on the ticking of time. To pronounce that we’re moving from one age demographic to another. Don’t give me commentary. Just protect her brain!
Youth!
Darn red bike helmet with pink tiger stripes. Maybe we’ll just go back to the child-sized one that fits like a Yamaka. I’m sure with the rubber mallet I can get it to fit.