How to take out a 13 year old, bicycling

My oldest, 13, now wants to make his own way to his club rugby, a few miles from us at the Accies Rugby Club, Raeburn Place grounds.

So I dug out and fixed up his bike, and off we went together to show him the safe route.

All good stuff. Nearly ran over some dogs, startled a few old dears, made some seat adjustments.

Close to home though another, oncoming, 13 year old, busy noseying at other the peoples’ gardens, swerved into my path. We had a head-on collision to the sound of me yelling, “Watch out!”

“So sorry!” she sobbed into the arms of her father.

“Just stay on the left and look ahead, sweetheart. Shit happens.” I replied, probably less calmly than I thought.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” laughed my son loudly, without any trace of subtly. “Will it be this funny when I go on my own?”