Smile

I wanted a bike so badly when I was about 5 years old or so. We didn’t have a lot of expendable income for such things as a bike, when I was a kid, so my dad went to Tony Perry’s auction which occurred every weekend. It was like a giant yard sale of everything from old farming equipment, antique furniture and occasionally a horse or a cow thrown into the mix.

My father knew how much I wanted a bike… or rather how much I needed a bike. So he went down to the auction and bought me an old beat up, flat tired, rusty bike. He changed the tires, greased up all the parts and painted it bright red. By the time I saw the bike, it looked brand new. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and I thought he was a God for getting it for me. I had one small problem. I didn’t know how to ride one. Holding on the seat of the bike, while I peddled, my dad spent hours with me trying to teach me. It was great! As long as my dad was there holding me up, I felt secure. Finally I’d mastered the fine art of peddling while looking where I was going, all at the same time. It was the closest thing to flying I had ever felt. I turned my head to tell my father he could “let go”, I could take it from there. But he’d already let go about a half a block earlier. I was smiling from ear to ear. I thought I was flying so fast I’d have to pick the bugs out of my teeth.

13 years ago I married my husband in my parents back yard. As I held my father’s arm, I remembered the day he taught me to ride my first bike. Like snap shots from a photo album, I was flipping through 32 years of memories in my head. As I then to my future husband’s arm, I turned my head to tell my father he could “let go”, I could take it from there. But he’d already let go and was sitting in his seat smiling.

Through the years my father has been there for every happy, fun, stressful, frightening and disappointing event of my life.

My father was strong, gentle, supportive, moral and kind. The only time I ever saw my father cry was on the day we buried his father and the day they wheeled me into surgery back in January. Though he had an iron hand, he wore velvet gloves. I revered him as a giant of a man, with an equally proportionate heart.