Notes from inside an accidental airbag

I lifted my daughter from the bike in our garage, her small hands gripping my shoulders. The January chill stung our cheeks, and my Hövding airbag helmet sat forgotten around my neck. I gestured toward the house. “Race you to the door!” She grinned, before hopping onto her kick wheel. She propelled herself forward with the practiced confidence of a toddler who didn’t know fear. But halfway up the…