There's usually a pivotal event in a child's life that shapes their personality in a lasting manner.

At a time when this young person is still forming, their brain absorbing every stimulus with the fervor of a zealous alcoholic, the event that will forever mark this unique psyche occurs for Robert Grognon, our beloved Grand Regent, during the "summer" holidays, a season conducive to warmth and long joyful days in the northern hemisphere of the so-called "Earth".

For about sixty day/night cycles, there are no chores to be done, no education to be absorbed, and every day is an adventure, filled with the scents of the ripe wheat field next door and the burning tar of the Lilac Street cul-de-sac. Robert Grognon lived at number four, the second house on the left as you enter the cul-de-sac. The first was the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Brugnon, the third belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Trognon, then at the end of the cul-de-sac were the Moignon, followed by the Chignon, and on the right side of the cul-de-sac, the Bourguignon, and lastly, the Troufignon.

On this summer afternoon, little Robert stepped out of his house, determined to grapple with life, and to prove that at the tender age of five, he could win over Amanda Brugnon, three years his senior. To this end, he had learned to ride a bike - without training wheels - with the help of an alcoholic friend of his parents who, during a late-night drink, had offered to teach young Robert the mysterious and ancient art of balancing on a moving two-wheeled vehicle. Around ten o'clock at night, while Robert, exhausted, having troubles to focus, still couldn't find that slender balance that would save him from certain fall, he was suddenly struck by providence, and by providence, we mean the invectives and threats, always tinged with alcohol, from this family friend who was losing his patience as his blood alcohol level rose.

Robert would later realize that this method of instilling fear, threats, and reproaches to quickly achieve results is indeed an age-old approach found especially in the workplace, delighting floor managers who are unconditional adepts of micromanagement, otherwise known as professional harassment. Sure, while results are obtained, they are often crude and rough, making them sometimes useful in the moment but rarely in the long term. On top of that : it just hurt people, and those miserable third-sector thugs dressed up as honorable desk workers should be immediately fired from the Grand Regency. You don't solve the problems, if you read me.

This being said,  it was with this new, albeit imperfect, experience that Robert decided to, let's be frank, hit on the girl next door ("come on, pretty, you're going to see what I'm capable of, you won't believe it"). He rolled his white and red BMX mountain bike out of the family garage, which he had customized with a Pif Gadget sticker on the frame and two playing cards attached to the rear wheel spokes to make as much noise as possible, convinced that the female gender was sensitive to noise, especially if it was loud and repetitive.

Physiologically yes, they are sensitive to noise. To claim that noise, because that's what we're talking about, raw noise, is a driver of feelings and attraction, no, on this point, Robert, like many males of his species, was way off the mark, regardless of age.

Amanda was in her garden, which faced the cul-de-sac, playing with her little sister. Robert called out to her and waved grandly with one arm, the other arm firmly holding the handlebar of the mountain bike, like a cowboy holding a bull by its horns. Amanda smiled politely and waved back before turning her attention back to her little sister.

"NOW I KNOW HOW TO RIDE A BIKE WATCH THIS YOU'LL SEE," proudly proclaimed Robert.

Note the amusing way children have of shouting in in a monotonous tone until they run out of breath, completely disregarding any form of verbal punctuation. Robert could have just come see her and say "wanna see something cool?" but no, at that age, Robert was done being the little boy, he was ready to conquer the world, to rule the universe (well, let's start with one galaxy, shall we ?). The other ones at school, making fun of him, ha! They will see. When he will come back on September, at school, some of them will already know, some will refuse to believe it, but it will be a fact, the fact that Robert and Amanda are together. And note that "together" is just a word for kids, it doesn't involve anything else, maybe holding hands one time or two, but no more. Most importantly, it grants the boy some kind of diplomatic immunity, forbidding other girls to mock him, and to be respected by his pals. Well, that's what he thought.

Amanda and her little sister, vaguely curious, watched Robert, saw him mount his bike, ride towards the end of the cul-de-sac, attempt his braking slide tactic (to little success, he admitted it). He realigned his bike with the direction of the cul-de-sac and revved his foot in a motor noise ("brrrm brrrm brm brm brm"). 

Then he took off. 

Slowly at first, he gained speed and saw himself cutting through the air, an arrow cutting the wind, a furious racing car hungry for asphalt, each push on the pedals taking him to a world of adrenaline, speed, and vaguely toxic masculinity, which he was unaware of, but which he didn't mind at that moment. He was alive, he was confident, he was Robert, and he was going to show them. He was going to show her. His boosted ego was throwing at him images of success dancing a jig in his mind. 

"Hello world. Here I am."

Seen from Amanda, he wasn't going that fast. It was just a boy riding a bike with effort. She could hear him breathing heavily. But Robert is a nice kid, so she watched, politely. 

He wanted - had to - reach the entrance of the cul-de-sac as fast as possible to brake right in front of Amanda's house. She would be so impressed she'd have to be his girlfriend, for sure. The wind blew in his face, passed through his hair, his heart was pounding in his chest. He saw the end of the cul-de-sac approaching very quickly and then decided to brake.

He applied only one brake instead of both.

Why? Because he is right-handed. And the right brake corresponded to the front wheel.

As soon as he pressed it, the world took a completely different turn. Gravity no longer made sense. The landscape rotated before him. The ground became a wall, and soon a ceiling against which he rubbed his forehead.His bike, meanwhile, crashed a bit further ahead, and the world snapped back into place. Robert got up, with difficulty, his hands painful and speckled with gravel. He touched his warm, throbbing forehead. Amanda, watching from her garden, covered her mouth with her hand and shielded her little sister's eyes before calling out to her parents.

Robert had cut open his forehead. It wasn't anything spectacular, but he bled enough to notice that his fingers, which had instinctively touched the wound, were vivid red, which frightened him more than it should have.

The impact of this unfortunate accident on Robert went far beyond the physical pain and the few stitches needed to close the gaping wound on his forehead. It was as if, at the moment of his fall, a part of his carefreeness had evaporated, leaving behind a veil of caution that would now tint every decision, every action. This fall was not just a simple incident but a tipping point of an internal transformation.

As days went by, Robert's wound healed, but the psychological imprint of this unfortunate event remained indelible. Each mocking laugh, each sideways glance from his peers, reminded Robert of the humiliation and pain of his fall. Gradually, he began to distance himself from activities he deemed risky, calculating each of his movements with a caution that bordered on excess. The teenager who once loved adventure and spontaneity transformed into a young man who weighed the pros and cons of every decision, however trivial.

His parents, hearty lovers of life to the last drop, watched with concern this gradual change. They tried to encourage him to take risks, to explore new passions, but Robert had become impervious to their advice, walled up in his quest for safety and predictability. When he announced, with calm determination, his intention to become an accountant, they understood that the fearless boy they knew had given way to a man who found comfort in numbers and balance sheets, a predictable world where risks could be calculated and controlled.

This decision was not just a career choice for Robert but the acceptance of an identity shaped by the aftermath of a fall. A path he chose not by default, but as a sanctuary from the uncertainty of a world too often unpredictable.