A Childhood Memory: The Tricycle

Jodell Ann Bradish (1949- )

Home person in the Bradish-Scott Family Tree

People often cannot recall memories from their toddler years. That begins to change by the time we're three or so and become classified as preschoolers. But as we get older the details begin to fade somewhat. I have several memories of things that happened when I was three and four that are on the rather murky side. One, however, stands out because it's quite vivid.

 

In the summer of 1953, I was 3½ years old. My parents, Woody and Shirley (Scott) Bradish, my younger sister, Janice, and I lived in the upstairs apartment at my grandparents' house in Celoron, New York, a small village located at the southern end of Chautauqua Lake. There were sidewalks and large shade trees. The houses on our side of the street stood on a low hill above the sidewalk. The neighbors were friendly and, in that era, parents didn't have to keep their eyes on their children every second they were outside. Children were told to take the usual precautions: look both ways before crossing the street, don't talk to strangers, and so on.

 

My grandparents, Frank and Gertrude (Sealy) Scott, lived downstairs in their house at 55 West Livingston Avenue in Celoron. (Bradish-Scott Family Collection)

 

One nice day I was peddling my tricycle down the sidewalk from our house to the one next door. Suddenly, I was lying on my side on the sidewalk, still on my tricycle, with the bumper of a car up against me. I pushed against the bumper trying to get it away from me. It didn't budge, no matter how hard I tried. The driver, who turned out the be the neighbor's grown son, Ronnie, lightly hit the gas as he tried to back up again, but stopped when the car didn't move. I don't recall being scared, but I obviously didn't realize the severity of the situation.

 

Ronnie got out of his car and he and his mother, Ebba, came around to see what had stopped him. I remember the horrified looks on their faces when they saw me. Given the slope of their driveway, which was similar to ours, and that I approached it from the car's passenger side, there is no way Ronnie could have seen me before he began to back up. My mother, who was in front of our house, ran to me. Her adrenaline had to have gone from zero to sixty in an instant. 

 

It all happened very quickly. I recall Mom scolding me as we walked over to our house—she reacted out of shock and fear. While I don't have any recollection of what she said, I do remember that she hugged me. She knew what I probably didn't realize at the time: the only thing that kept me from being crushed under the wheel of a heavy 1940s model car was my sturdy little tricycle.

*               *               *

 

 

Bradish-Scott Family History — September 2026