Hop, hop, hop.

No, it’s too early for the Easter Bunny.

The 5-foot 9-inch, 170-pound hopping fool is my oldest son. The 16-year-old is sporting a cast on his left leg these days (surgery to repair a foot injury) and he thinks he can get around faster without crutches. So . . . he hops — everywhere.

He hops around the kitchen from the fridge to the sink to the stove. He hops into the living room and pounces on the sofa. He hops around the corner to the bathroom and . . . hops back again. 

He hops up the stairs to his bedroom and hops down the hall. He hops into the shower and . . . splashes around.

I’ve never used crutches before. I’ve never had a broken bone or worn a cast. I am, however, convinced that using crutches must be safer than hopping.

The first couple days on crutches I was amazed how easily — yet awkwardly —  he got around. He’d hobbled around the house the first few days, really not roaming too far.

On his fourth day, he returned to the surgeon’s office for a check of his incision. We made a couple stops in Fargo before the appointment. Hippity-Hop decided to test out his crutches. He jumped out of the van in the Wal-Mart parking lot and vaulted toward the store entry. His “steps” were equal to three of mine. His crutches catapulted him six feet forward at a time. Nevermind that he looked like a strange one-legged bird with metal wings flailing at his sides.

I tried to steer clear in case a crutch was flung too wide. He charged into the store and I grabbed a cart — for protection.

Jake took to the wide aisles and the crowd parted — yielding the walkway to the Crazy Kid on Crutches. After about 10 minutes, Jake halted and handed me his crutches. “Too hot,” he muttered. “I’m sweating.”

“Quite a work out?” I asked.

He took off his coat, retrieved the crutches and proceded onward — at a slower pace.

We still cruised around Wal-Mart in record time. He propelled himself out the automatic exit and we drove off in the van.

The clinic parking lot was covered with ice and compacted snow plus a few puddles to dodge. My son jumped out of the van and again launched across the asphalt  at a high rate of speed.  I had to laugh to myself, since we’ve always teased Jake that he did most things in slow motion. The “Speed of Jake” is  what we affectionately call his sloth-like motion.

Not so since he started using crutches. Now he’s traveling at a “speed unsafe for current road conditions.” Crutches thrust out to the sides and then planted in front of him, he leaps forward. His body follows in one fluid motion.

Who was he racing to the door?

I hope that old lady gets out of his way.

He’s going to crash into that car.

“Jake, could you slow down and wait for your mother?”

Please.

He stopped only because he needed me to open the door. Once inside, he bolted for a chair in the waiting area and cast his crutches aside.

When the nurse called his name, he hopped to attention.

Here we go again.