I’ve been a person on a bike for decades, quietly pedaling along getting where I need to go. I can still picture the day I learned to power a bicycle on my own. I was about six years old, my father let go and I’ve kept pedaling ever since.
My best friend at the time was there too. She was a month older than I was and felt it was wrong that I should reach this milestone before she did. She was so upset, she didn’t speak to me for a week. In a six year old’s world, that’s eternity.
I didn’t lose my best friend and she achieved her two wheeled freedom a few weeks later.
No matter how old you are, there’s an irrational part of us that feels our parents will be here eternally.
I lost my father a few months ago, and the memory of that huge smile of pride on my Father’s face on such a mundanely momentous day is one of the happiest memories I have of him. Today would have been his 85th birthday.
My father gave me one of the greatest gifts ever that day decades ago. He gave me the joy of riding a bike. That gift he gave me is a metaphor for everything a father would wish upon a daughter….freedom, autonomy and independence.
It’s a gift that never gets old, never goes out of style and keeps on giving.
Happy Birthday Dad and thank you.