I remember when I was a kid who wasn’t old enough to sit behind my parents on the scooter without falling back. There always needed to be someone else to sit behind me to brace me from falling off the seat.

I remember Mom telling me when I was a baby I did not want sleep at night. Mom and Dad always had to ride me on the scooter across the silent streets so that I could fall asleep because I preferred so. Perhaps it was the cool fresh air from the city that helped bringing the sleep.

I remember whenever Dad wanted to make a turn, Mom always stuck out her arm, depending on the direction Dad was turning, to make some signal to that we were turning to that route. I would always be naive and asking her why she had to do that even when the signal light was on. She told me it was easy for riders to notice, safer to cross.

I remember I could not wait to grow older so that I could sit alone myself behind my parents, because that proved that I was old enough to sit without falling backwards. I then became my parents’ hand-turn-signal.

But I also remember how I always took for granted the value of scooters on a daily basis. In the young mind of a teenager, I loved stepping out of my dad’s car rather than bearing the heat of the sun on the scooter.

I was too drifted away with the flow of life that I did not have any second to think of the scooters until recently my mom was riding from street to street just to look for that particular street food.

Viet streets are still busy. The flow of scooters is denser day by day. They are always in a rush as if they are in a running competition, whether it’s rush hour or not. Scooter riders can’t stand slowing down for any second for street-crossers.

Nothing changed but me, the only person who just suddenly started to reminisce about some young-age memories being ridden on the scooter squeezed in between my parents or sitting in front of of the scooter. The feeling of safe and sound, of being protected.

Because I never learned to ride one or dare to ride on Viet streets, I’m still behind either my mom’s or dad’s back but not both. And I know sooner or later our roles will be switched. I will be the one who has to either ride or drive my parents when they grow old. It’s just something I began to realize could never be taken back.

Most people would prefer cars over motorcycles and scooters. But don’t hate scooters. Just think about it, if it hadn’t been for those motorcycles and scooters, you would never be able to suddenly stop by a random food cart on street and get your favorite street food; moreover, escaping from the daily nightmare traffic jam among chaos of the hurrying crowd would even be more impossible.

My dad was always the person who has problem with other people riding me, even if it was Mom. It always had to be him. Because it’s safer, he claimed. Sometimes I thought he was just looking down on other people’s skill and over worried, but then I understood, it's because he rode me along my childhood.