It was the summer after my first year of college, I was sitting in my huge, red boat of a car. A 1980-something Oldsmobile Cutlas Calais. It was my first car. And, like most of the firsts in my life, that made it the most special.

It was a warm and humid summer night, just around dusk, in June. God, it was unusually sticky that year, I remember. It felt like the whole world was wrapped in a soaked wool blanket. I was eating a bubble gum waterice from a local five and dime store - perhaps one of the last actual five and dime stores left in existence. And I had the air conditioning on. Which, for me, meant my windows were down.

I was really pissed off that night. Life was tough and nothing seemed to be working right. I came to the park to maybe clear my head. When I was eighteen years old, "clearing my head" meant crying my eyes out.

Come to think of it, not much has changed in the last decade.

There are few very cool things about Delaware. 1) We have no sales tax. 2) You can drive the entire state in 2 hours. I don't know if this is necessarily "cool" but it is very convenient. 3) You can hear birds singing at night. I've always found this fascinating. But, catch me in a certain mood, and I'll find my belly button fascinating. So it really isn't saying much.

So, anyway, there I am: pissed and sticky eating a waterice in my mountainous Oldsmobile Cutlass and, just as I'm debating whether or not I should get to know the Delaware River more intimately, I see this bird.

This cute little one legged bird.

Poor little thing was hopping around on its one skinny little leg. Just hopping away like it didn't matter. I know he really didn't have a choice. I mean, what are the other options for a bird with one leg?

Yes, I know it could fly. Smartass.

Oddly enough, there was something very valiant about it all. Something inspirational about this little bird making its way through life in spite of loss. Maybe I've watched one too many Lifetime movies but I always get a lump in my throat when the underdog hits the game winning homerun or the ugly duckling gets picked as prom queen. (As long as it's not in a Stephen King's "Cary" kind-of-way ... red paint definitely dampens the Hallmark moment).

I've always been a big supporter of people getting back up when life throws them down. I'm an even bigger supporter of kicking life in the balls after you're back on your feet again. Take for instance (no pun intended here) Lance Armstrong. Here's a guy who was a world class cyclist. Then he finds out he has testicular cancer, almost dies, and is told that he will never ride at the same caliber again. His first time back on a bike, he can barely make a mile. Think of how disheartening that must of been for someone who just a year earlier had been ranked the number one cyclist in the world. But he didn't give up. Every day, despite the pain and fear, he got on his bike and he rode. And rode. And rode. Until he came back stronger than ever.

He just won the Tour de France for the FIFTH consecutive time.

Amazing.

So, I gotta give props to the Lance Armstrongs of the world. You don't let the bad times beat ya down. Or, maybe you do for a little bit, but that's okay. I think we've all had our summer nights hiding from the world in the front seat of our cars crying our eyes out listening to some bad 80's ballad on repeat while eating bubble gum water ice.

Or at least something to that effect. With maybe some minor details changed.

But, the most important part is, you didn't let it keep you down.

And that's all that really matters.

By the way, I'm doing fine. I'm not writing because, to be honest, I just haven't been in the mood as of late. But I am still reading.

Which is why I wrote this entry tonight.

For you. And you know who you are.

My little birdie with one leg. Never let them keep you down.

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