854 | Ignorance Injury

854 | Evan and His Dad Discuss How Flip Ignored the Steps to Get, Have and Send Energy, Resulting in a Bike Crash

Chapter 1: Evan and His Dad Discuss the Three Phases of Get, Have and Send

As Evan and his dad discuss the three phases of get, have, and send, the tension of the afternoon begins to surface in the quiet house. The kitchen clock hums over the sink, a low mechanical buzz under the late-afternoon quiet.

Sunlight spills across the table in a bright rectangle. Dust floats through it like tiny, glowing planets.

Evan slumps in his chair, one knee jiggling nonstop. His thumbs twitch now, and then, like they’re hunting for a controller that isn’t there.

His dad sits across from him with a mug of tea, watching him the way someone watches a spark and wonders if it’s going to catch.

“Your body constantly reminds you of the ideal way to live your life,” Dad says at last.

Here it comes, Evan thinks—a Dad Lesson.

“You are always breathing in, breathing out, or pausing,” Dad goes on. “You get air, have air, or expel air from your body. There are only three choices, all day and all night long.”

Evan raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks for the preschool lesson,” he says. “What’s your point?”

Dad smiles, unbothered.

“Everything in life goes through the same three phases,” he says, looking at the steam rising from his cup like it’s spelling out secrets. “You get money, have money, or spend money. You get energy, have energy, or spend energy. You gain knowledge, you develop understanding, and you use that knowledge wisely.”

He leans forward, eyes bright.

“There is a flow in life,” he says softly, “that can satisfy all your wants once you discover how to get, have, and send what you want.”

It sounds deep. It also sounds like a riddle from a self-help podcast.

Evan rubs his temples.

“My brain is not getting what you’re talking about,” he says. “I’m frustrated and bored and about to send you away.”

He tries to make it a joke, but under the sarcasm sits something sharper: fear. The fear that there really is a code to life—and he’s the one person who can’t crack it.

Dad chuckles.

“That’s funny,” he says. “It’s all so simple and clear in my mind when I mentally practice this conversation.”

He shakes his head at himself.

“Your imaginary response is, ‘Wow, Dad, that is so clear and simple to understand. Thank you for teaching me how to get, have, and spend whatever I want.’”

Evan snorts.

“Yeah, that Evan sounds like a total suck-up,” he says.

But the tension in his shoulders eases a little.

“It would help if you gave me some real-life examples,” he adds.

He doesn’t say, "Help me connect this to something that actually matters." He doesn’t say: Help me figure out who I’m supposed to be.

He waits.

Chapter 2: Dad Explains How Getting and Having the Right Bike Equipment and Reflexes Creates Power

While his dad explains how getting and having the right bike equipment and reflexes creates power, Evan immediately visualizes the dirt track where he spends his free time. Dad leans back, like he’s been waiting for that opening.

“To learn new bike tricks,” he says, “you have to get stuff first.”

The word bike snaps Evan’s focus into place.

In his mind, the kitchen dissolves. Dirt ramps rise in front of him. The air smells like dust and chain oil and the sharp metallic tang of adrenaline.

“First, you find a mentor to teach you,” Dad says. “Or you study others doing the tricks you want to learn.”

He ticks off on his fingers.

“You get creative, inspirational ideas to make up your own tricks. You get the right helmet, pads, and bike to withstand the punishment. You get strong muscles, fast reflexes, and the body balance you need.”

Evan sees the bike club track in his mind—the way the ramp’s shadow cuts across the dirt, the rubber squeak of tires, the way the world folds and unfolds when he’s in midair.

This is the only place he feels completely alive. Church, therapy, escape—all welded together in steel and sweat.

“Okay,” he says. “All very obvious. Please move on.”

He tries to sound bored, but he knows what it costs to “get” those things: time, falls, bruises, that quiet, stubborn faith that keeps you showing up.

“Once you’ve gotten what you need,” Dad says, eyes sharpening, “you have to hold onto it. Maintain it. Don't lose it.”

He lifts his mug.

“Drinking alcohol,” he says, “will destroy your quick reflexes and balance. Neglecting your bike can make it fail you right when you need it most. Late-night partying drains your energy and makes your muscles lazy.”

Faces flash through Evan’s mind: older riders who show up smelling like smoke and liquor, brag loudly, ride sloppily—once fearless, now flinching mid-air.

“I’ve seen that,” Evan says slowly. “Some students give up on learning tricks and just become sideline observers. They don’t have what it takes to do good bike tricks. They have better equipment than I do, but they lack balance and reflexes.”

The words feel harsh on his tongue. Guilt pricks him.

“Their parents make them quit because of too many emergency hospital trips,” he adds. “Oops. Strike that last comment.”

He looks away. It’s too easy to judge people who step off the track when you haven’t been the one waking up in a hospital bed.

“Getting and having what you need,” Dad says, folding his hands, “gives you the power you want.”

He leans in.

“Only when you know the skills and equipment you need can you move on to performing creative tricks. Because you’ve developed superpowers, you can defy gravity. You can perform feats that are impossible for others.”

The word superpowers sends a warm rush through Evan’s chest.

He feels it in his body—the quiet charge that builds in his legs as he pedals toward the ramp. Energy coils in his muscles like compressed lightning. It fires down through the frame into the wheels.

Then he’s off the ground.

Time slows. The roar of the world fades. There’s only sky, spin and landing.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Get. Have. Send.

The pattern nudges the stubborn part of his mind, a hairline crack in his resistance.

And under that crack, a memory waits.

Chapter 3: Evan Remembers When Rev Told Flip the Truth About Lacking Muscle Power

As Evan remembers when Rev told Flip the truth about lacking muscle power to land a heavy bike trick, the memory hits so hard that Evan almost feels the kitchen tilt.

Late afternoon at the track. Sun slants low, turning dust into gold. Sweat and chain grease hang in the air. The high-curve ramp throws a long, curved shadow like the jaw of some giant predator.

“There’s this kid we call Flip,” Evan says now, eyes drifting past his dad’s shoulder as the past takes over. “He thinks he can do tricks without taking the time to learn the skills.”

In his mind, Flip materializes on the edge of the track.

Regular bike. Too heavy. Frame scratched to dull silver. Tires are worn bald.

Everyone calls him Flip because of what he talks about—not what he lands.

Evan hears his voice like it’s happening again.

“I’ve seen how easy it is for you to do inverted backflips,” Flip says, cheeks flushed, eyes too bright. There’s a sour trace of wine on his breath. “I’m convinced I can do it too. Every day, I sit and watch until I blindly believe with all my heart that I can do whatever you guys can do.”

His words are soaked in bravado—a solid wall of I can do this meant to hide the ghost of please see me underneath.

Rev, one of the older riders, steps forward.

He looks Flip up and down: the bike that weighs too much, the shaky stance, the way Flip’s hands tremble on the grips.

“The truth is you can’t do a backflip on your regular bike,” Rev says. “It’s too heavy.”

Flip stiffens.

“My strong belief in myself will overcome all obstacles,” he declares.

The air tightens.

Evan remembers the sensation: the track going quiet, conversations stuttering to a stop. It feels like the moment right before thunder.

“Let me see how high you can jump,” Rev says.

Flip bends his knees and pushes off the dirt. His bike lifts about six inches, maybe seven. He lands awkwardly, back wheel skidding.

“This is how I jump,” Rev says.

He launches—a smooth, practiced motion. Bike and body move as one. He clears two feet with room to spare.

Dust sprays out under his tires when he lands.

“The truth is,” Rev says, “you don’t have the muscles developed proportionately to your body mass.”

Flip stares at him, a flush creeping up his neck. Hurt flips into rage.

“Did you just call me fat?” he snaps. “I have a trans-fluid body type. I identify as slender and having perfect muscles. I’m telling the authorities you called me overweight.”

He jabs a finger at Rev.

“Besides,” he adds, voice climbing, “I jumped just as high as you did. You must have blinked.”

A few riders exchange glances.

They know this game: twist words until reality flinches. But they also know something more brutal—gravity doesn’t negotiate.

Evan’s stomach knots. He hates how the word fat can slice someone open. He also hates watching it used as a shield to deflect a truth that could save a life.

Rev’s jaw tightens, but his tone stays steady.

“I’m just telling you the truth,” he says. “Your false beliefs will prevent you from accepting it, because that would make you wrong. The truth is your body doesn’t have enough muscle power to make you and a heavy bike do a backflip.”

He nods toward the ramp.

“You’ll fail and get hurt,” he says, “unless your soul has developed mystical powers of levitation. Get the proper equipment, and we’ll gladly teach you in small, safe steps.”

The air crackles.

Belief slams into physics. Identity slams into impact.

Flip lifts his chin.

“I believe I am invulnerable,” he says. His eyes shine with a wild, electric certainty that scares Evan more than any anger. “My Creator would never allow me to desire something harmful. Angels will protect me. Who wants to make a bet with me?”

No one answers.

They can taste the wine. They can feel the situation tipping toward something you don’t get to rewind.

A quiet, animal part of Evan’s brain starts whispering one word:

Run.

Chapter 4: Flip Relies on Blind Belief Instead of Preparation and Crashes on the Ramp

Because Flip relies on blind belief instead of preparation and crashes on the ramp, Evan watches the horrifying inevitability of gravity taking over. Flip wheels his bike to the start line.

The high-curve ramp looms ahead, a curve of packed earth that launches riders into the sky when treated with respect.

“I’m going to prove you all wrong,” Flip says.

His shoulders shake, but his voice locks into a dangerous kind of calm.

“I know I’m right, so I won’t even wear a helmet or pads.”

He unclips his helmet and tosses it onto the dirt.

Evan’s pulse spikes. The world sharpens—edges too bright, colors too harsh. The air tastes like fear and metal.

“What happens?” Dad asks quietly from across the kitchen table.

He already knows this is not a happy story. He asks anyway.

At the track, teenage Evan moves without thinking.

“Flip, don’t,” he says. “This is stupid.”

The words feel small and hollow against the roaring engine of Flip’s certainty.

“Flip pushes us away,” Evan says now, voice flat with remembered helplessness. “He pedals as fast as he can toward the high-curve ramp.”

Flip’s legs pump, muscles straining. His heart slams in his chest, but inside his head, another movie plays.

In that version, he rockets up the ramp, spins perfectly and lands clean. Everyone screams his name. His video goes viral. For once, the world sees him.

“All I need is enough speed,” he tells himself—and shouts to anyone close enough to hear. “Everything will naturally work out. My stunt will be even more spectacular because I’ll go faster than the bike club members. I never understand why they seem to go so slow.”

He leans forward and pushes harder.

His first mistake is simple: he’s going too fast.

The energy he’s “gotten” is more than he can “have.” It turns brittle and wild, like electricity melting its own wires.

His second mistake is fatal: he lifts the front of his heavy bike before he reaches the ramp.

The front tire slams down onto the curved face with too much force.

There’s a sharp, sickening pop.

Rubber shreds. Air bursts out of the tube in a violent hiss.

Flip’s momentum doesn’t care about the tire.

He and the bike launch anyway—straight up off the ramp, no graceful arc, no controlled rotation.

There is a brief, split-second moment of impossible stillness when Flip hangs in the air.

Evan remembers dialing 911 while those seconds stretched.

“I call while he’s still in the air,” he tells his dad. His voice has gone quiet. “I know what’s going to happen before he lands.”

Gravity grabs them.

The bike and rider drop.

There is no flip.

Just speed.

And impact.

“It’s…spectacular in a sick way,” Evan says. “The video gets a million views on YouTube.”

He stares at the table.

“There are still blood stains on the ramp later,” he adds. “Oops. I shouldn’t say that.”

Dad closes his eyes for a moment.

“Ouch,” he breathes. “He expects his belief to protect him from foolishness. There is truth in ‘better safe than sorry.’ Flip doesn’t believe in studying and practicing in small steps to gain higher mastery.”

“Flip doesn’t have the skills or proper equipment,” Evan says. “He thinks strong belief is all he needs.”

His throat tightens.

“His Creator doesn’t protect him, because Flip is drunk and foolish,” he says. “The angels do their best just to keep him alive.”

He swallows down a memory of sirens, panicked shouts, the white blur of an ambulance interior.

“Then Flip blames us,” Evan adds, anger slipping through. “He says we make him believe backflips are easy. He tells his parents we tease him into proving his manhood.”

The story twists.

And the impact keeps spreading.

Chapter 5: The Bike Club Shows a Video to Redirect the Angry Protesting Mob Away from Themselves

After the bike club shows a video to redirect the angry protesting mob away from themselves, the crowd's fury violently shifts toward Flip's parents instead. Dad’s jaw tightens as he listens.

“Flip’s mom petitions to shut down our practice area,” Evan says. “For ‘safety reasons.’”

He almost laughs at the word—how small and neat it sounds compared to broken bones.

“We work hard to get strong muscles, reflex skills, and body balance so we can do a proper, safe backflip,” he says. “But the spotlight turns on us like we’re the threat.”

“That’s not fair,” Dad says. “You tell him the truth. He refuses to hear it. You even try to stop him.”

“That doesn’t matter to anyone watching from the outside,” Evan says.

His hands clench.

“Flip’s parents say they’re going to file a lawsuit,” he goes on. “They report bullying to the press. The press believes everything Flip says without talking to any of the trick bike club members.”

He remembers cameras, microphones and leading questions.

“He’s painted as a victim,” Evan says. “We’re painted as reckless monsters.”

He exhales sharply.

“Someone organizes a protest,” he says. “About fifty people show up with signs yelling, ‘Defund the bike club! Ban all bicycles!

He gives a bitter half-smile.

“Another petition demands all students wear helmets and pads all day,” he adds. “Even while sleeping.”

Dad blinks. “I read something about that,” he says slowly. “I didn’t believe it was true.”

He looks at Evan.

“Why does everyone believe Flip’s lies?” he asks.

“Because they’re looking for something to hit,” Evan says quietly. “They get one story. They have anger. They send it where it’s pointed.”

He stares at his hands.

“Some people even throw lit bottles of gasoline onto the bike track,” he says.

He can still see the flames licking at stubborn dirt that refuses to burn.

“Our club decides to stop everything,” he says, “without violence.”

Dad studies him more closely.

“Are you sure you want to tell me?” he asks.

The question drops into the space between them like a stone.

Evan feels the weight of what comes next.

He nods.

“The next evening,” he says, “the protest grows to about a hundred people. Even Flip’s parents are there, encouraging everyone to get revenge against ‘oppression.’”

He can still hear the chants, see the handmade signs: JUSTICE FOR FLIP—NO MORE BLOODSPORTS. BAN THE RAMP.

“We borrowed a generator and a big-screen TV,” he says. “We set them up by the track and invite the protesters to watch a video we edited together.”

In his mind, the machine’s rumble shakes the air. The TV glows against the dark like a giant, floating eye.

“The movie shows Flip drinking most of a bottle of wine that day,” Evan says. “Then it shows how his ‘belief’ makes him super brave.”

There’s footage from multiple phones, angles from fence lines and bikes.

“There are clips of all of us trying to talk him out of it,” he goes on. “We show his jump—six inches. We show our jumps—over two feet.”

Onscreen, the difference is brutal.

“Everyone cringes when drunk Flip shoves us away and charges the ramp,” Evan says. “We cut the movie off while he’s still in the air.”

Dad’s eyebrows lift.

“I wondered why the living room TV disappeared for a ‘science project,’” he says.

There’s a quick flash of shared humor, then the weight returns.

“The protesters are convinced we’re innocent,” Evan says. “But they’re still full of hate and anger that needs somewhere to land.”

He remembers watching it happen—their outrage disconnecting from him and the club, then sparking along the next available path.

“The mob turns on Flip’s parents,” he says. “They decide they’re the real oppressors.”

Signs become weapons.

“People throw signs, stones, beer cans,” he says. “The whole family ends up in the hospital.”

Dad exhales.

“An angry mob doesn’t care about logic or virtue,” he says softly. “Anger is like lightning. It just looks for a target.”

Evan nods.

He has seen it in their faces—eyes glazed, voices chanting, everyone feeding off everyone else. The anger feels alive, like something riding inside them instead of coming from them.

“Flip’s family packs up and moves away,” he says. “They leave a mangled bike hanging from a tree in the front yard, with a sign: ‘Free to someone who believes they can ride it.’”

The image haunts him.

The twisted frame. The broken spokes. The paper sign flapping in the wind.

A monument to belief without preparation. A shrine to lies told until impact shuts them up.

Chapter 6: Evan Realizes He Must Learn How to Get, Have and Send His Anger Wisely

Sitting quietly at the table, Evan realizes he must learn how to get, have, and send his anger wisely before it destroys him like it destroyed Flip. The kitchen is very still.

The clock hums. The fridge clicks on. Outside, a dog barks once and then gives up.

Evan stares at the worn wood grain of the table. Guilt, anger, and confusion grind together in his chest like gears that don’t quite fit.

He isn’t sure what role he plays in the story.

Hero. Bystander. Accomplice. Survivor.

None of the labels sit right.

Dad watches him in silence.

“You’re quiet,” he says at last.

“I’m thinking,” Evan replies.

He hears Dad’s first words circling back, but this time they sound different.

You are always breathing in, breathing out, or pausing. You get air, have air, or expel air.

He thinks about Flip.

Flip tries to skip the “get” stage. He tries to leap straight to “have”—have skill, have power, have status—without building the muscles, the reflexes, the understanding.

He believes hard enough that he thinks reality will bend around him.

It doesn’t.

He thinks about the mob.

They get a story. They have outrage. They send it into the world as fire, broken glass, and shouted slogans—because that feels easier than sitting with uncertainty.

When the story changes, the energy doesn’t disappear. It just swings toward a new target.

Evan realizes he’s afraid of that same force inside himself—the part that wants to be right, to be seen, to belong so badly that truth becomes negotiable.

“Getting and having what I need gives me power,” he says slowly, trying to shape the lesson in his own words. “But if I skip steps…I become dangerous. To myself. To other people.”

Dad nods once. He doesn’t interrupt.

“Flip thinks belief is enough,” Evan says. “He thinks if he identifies as strong, or protected, or invulnerable, the universe will rearrange itself around him.”

He looks down at his hands.

“But gravity doesn’t care what you identify as,” he says softly.

For the first time, he feels something other than anger toward Flip.

He feels grief—for a boy who wants so badly to matter that he’s willing to gamble his spinal cord on it.

“And the mob,” Evan adds. “They think if they destroy something, they’ll fix something. They think if they push all their anger onto one person, they’ll get it out of themselves.”

Dad’s voice is very quiet when he answers.

“Anger is energy,” he says. “If you don’t transform it, it doesn’t disappear. It just looks for a new target.”

Evan imagines anger as lightning again—bright, jagged, hungry. It doesn’t stop to ask who deserves it.

He thinks about his own anger.

At Flip. At the press. At the protesters. At Flip’s parents. At himself.

It pulses in him like locked-up voltage.

“So what do I do with it?” he asks. “With all this energy?”

Dad doesn’t answer right away.

“You learn to get it honestly,” he says at last. “You learn to have it without letting it own you. And then you learn to send it wisely.”

He takes a slow breath, in and out.

“Get, have, send,” Evan repeats.

He thinks of the bike track again. Of thousands of tiny repetitions. Of falls. Of scraped knees. Of nights when landing a trick feels impossible—until one day, his body …does it.

He thinks of truth.

Not as a weapon to smash people with, but as gravity—the thing that stops everything from drifting into fantasy. Truth doesn’t care about winning arguments. It cares about keeping you alive.

He thinks of faith.

Not as a magic shield that guarantees easy landings, but as the decision to keep training even when there are no shortcuts.

He thinks of justice.

Not as a mob screaming for blood, but as quietly holding the whole story, even when part of it makes you flinch at your own reflection.

Inside his chest, something shifts.

A different kind of energy begins to move—not wild like Flip’s, not explosive like the mob’s, but steady. Like a current finally finding the right riverbed.

Evan pictures it: a soft, pale-gold glow gathering with each breath in, spreading through his ribs, shoulders, arms. With each breath out, it flows into his words, his choices, the way he rides, the way he treats people who scare or annoy him.

“Maybe the whole breathing thing isn’t so preschool,” he says.

Dad smiles.

“Maybe not,” he answers.

They sit there in the fading light, two people breathing in and out, each quietly practicing how to get, have, and send the invisible energy that shapes everything.

Somewhere far away, in another town, a twisted bike still hangs from a tree. The sign taped to it flaps in the wind:

Free to someone who believes they can ride it.

Someday, Evan hopes, someone walks past and understands the warning hidden between the words:

Belief is powerful.

But the truth is on the ground.

If you want to fly, you have to learn how to land.

And if you listen—really listen—to your breath, to your fear, to the quiet voice underneath the noise, you might catch the clues that show you how.

One inhale. One exhale—one choice at a time.

Chapter Synopsis:

Evan discusses the three phases of life—get, have, and send—with his dad, relating the concept to physical training, reflexes, and energy management on dirt bike tracks. He recalls a dangerous incident involving a reckless peer named Flip who relied on blind belief rather than preparation, ignored safety gear while intoxicated, and suffered a catastrophic crash on a high-curve ramp. When Flip's parents blamed the bike club, the members deflected accountability by publicly showing video footage of the accident, which redirected the mob's fury toward Flip's family. Through this reflection, Evan learns that unmanaged anger acts like destructive electrical energy, teaching him the importance of cultivating genuine skills, respecting physical laws, and managing his own energy wisely.

Core Themes & Laws:

• Everything in life operates through three phases: getting, having, and sending energy, skills, or resources.

• Blind belief, false identity, and lack of preparation cannot override physical and cosmic laws, leading to inevitable failure.

• Misdirected anger and unmanaged emotional energy act like a destructive mob, transferring blame rather than addressing root causes.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A young bike rider who processes past trauma and learns vital life lessons about preparation, truth, and energy control from his dad.

• Dad: Evan's mentor who guides him through philosophical concepts using practical analogies about biking and energy flow.

• Flip: An inexperienced and intoxicated rider who rejected safety equipment and muscle preparation, resulting in a severe crash.

• Rev: An older bike club member who calmly told Flip the truth about his physical limitations before the accident.