So yesterday, I arrived home to find it empty.
They're out practicing, I thought to myself.
I walked down the street, looking for a pregnant woman and little girl on a bicycle; the seemingly too large bicycle helmet making her look like a bobble-head doll.
The streets were empty. I checked the garage and indeed, her bicycle was missing. I started up my car and drove to our nearby park. Not knowing where they were, my mind began reeling. I pictured my daughter shooting out into an intersection just as I drove by. How horribly ironic that she'd learn how to ride, only to be clipped by her own father.
I shook out the emotion, feeling a bit shamed that I'd even consider such a scenario as I turned the corner and pulled into the vicinity of the park. No sooner had I began driving very slowly around the circular city park, that I noticed two young girls riding their bicycles. The bobble-head of one of the girls was unmistakable and I turned the car around to meet my daughter.
"Rob!" her friend yelled to me "Look! she's riding!"
My daughter coasted to an uneven stop next to the curb, her overjoyed smile seeming to encompass the whole of her face. I smiled back, then looked around and beyond for my wife; expecting her to be there so as to give my daughter the starting push.
"Hi Daddy" my daughter said.
Where was my wife?
Her neighborhood friend, unable to control her excitement blurted "...And she doesn't even need a push!"
"Wow! That's FANTASTIC!" I exclaimed, ecstatic at the unexpected surprise.
And to think my daughter had just learned how to ride the day before. I forget how easy it is...
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
I smile just thinking...
Sunday was slow and tedious. Any plans made fell by the wayside as my wife, daughter and I shuffled around the house listlessly. My daughter and I eventually pushed ourselves outside and decided to go to the park. My wife, pregnant with our second child decided to stay home and rest.
The first truly Spring-like day, Sunday was warm, bright and sunny with rivulets of water wearing away the remaining dirty snow and ice lining street gutters. Several of my daughter's neighborhood friends were outside riding their bikes and soon were invited to the park.
The year before, my first attempt at teaching my daughter to ride her bike had gone awry.
Overly eager, I had let her go too soon though she was not quite ready, and she'd fallen. Nothing I said could sooth her ego or get her back on the bike.
My daughter decided to ride her scooter, but could not keep up as her friends peddled ahead. Abandoning her scooter, she clung to my side and held my hand. She was quiet as she walked, but still defiant; running ahead to stop her friends while I returned the scooter she had dejectedly decided she no longer wanted to bring.
We reached the park and played, sloshing around the sloppy ice rink and watching a torrent of ice melt run it's course into a sewer drain beside the rink. On our way back, I asked my daughter, who had been eying her friends resignedly, about learning to ride.
"Would you like to try riding your bike again?" I started, hoping to draw her out.
"No." she replied; the word edged with finality, but ending with regret.
"Why not, honey?" I was treading on tender territory.
"I dunno."
"Does it scare you?" I asked quietly. It was a question meant for just her and I. The last thing I wanted was to shred her already tattered confidence regarding bicycles by exposing her fears publicly. Granted, her friends were half way around the park, from us, but tell that to a seven-year old.
"...yes." It came out as a whisper.
"I know last time was really scary. We should try again" I said, "and this time we won't do anything until you tell me you're ready".
"She's going too far ahead" my daughter said, changing the topic. She pointed ahead to the other girls growing distance. I called to her friends to wait for us and they paused. My daughter and I continued walking hand in hand and our conversation rotated to other topics.
Halfway between the park and home, my daughter startled me.
"When we get home, I want to try again" she stated unequivocally watching her two friends biking up ahead.
"OK." I replied, unsure how to respond "That's awesome".
"And I want to practice each day, after school." she continued.
"...OK" I said, encouraged.
As we neared our house, it became obvious I had my own issues to resolve. The closer we came, the more I feared putting her on the bicycle again. I felt so guilty and responsible for failing her last time. She had trusted in me and I'd failed her. Part of me feared failing again, crushing her trust in me to make things right. I'd watched the neighborhood children zipping around and had assumed it was the father's who had taught them.
The other part of me knew I wanted to make things right.
Reaching home, we parted ways with her friends and went inside to shed our winter gear in favor of tennis. When my wife heard of our plans, she decided to join us. I pulled my daughter's bike from the garage and removed the training wheels. My daughter's excitement became palpable and overtook any evident fear.
Our neighborhood is a constant cluster of activity. My daughter's friends were riding around the cul-de-sac at the end of the block as their father worked on his motorcycle in the driveway. Another neighbor played basketball with his young boys. Cars are a frequent concern. My daughter and I brought out her bike and rolled it towards the cul de sac. My wife had worried that her friends on their bicycles might distract my daughter. I brought my daughter's bike to a spot and my daughter climbed on.
"How're we doing?" I asked her.
"Good" she replied, a bit nervous.
She struggled keeping the bike upright.
"Try to find your balance" I encouraged. "Let me know when you're ready"
"I will" she said pausing for a moment, "OK, I"m ready".
Holding onto the back of her seat, I began pushing her along.
"Pedal fast" I said breathlessly. I'm not in very good shape and feared that I might run out of energy and stumble. She began pedaling faster. We continued and I held on to keep her balance, afraid to let go lest she crash right out of the starting gate. We splashed through a large puddle and turned into the cul de sac.
"OK...stop" I wheezed, bringing her to a slow halt. We turned around and started again. I could feel the burn in my legs and lungs. We reached the exit for the cul de sac and met up with my wife, who looked at me oddly.
"Maybe you shouldn't do this in the cul de sac" she offered. "It's hard to get momentum when you have to turn all the time. Just go straight down the street." This seemed really obvious, but I hadn't thought of it, so I nodded and brought my daughter to a starting spot before the puddle and aimed her bike down the street towards our house.
"Honey, watch down the street as you peddle. "My wife told my daughter "don't watch yourself peddle." I began wondering why I was doing this and not my wife. She seemed to have the training down, but then I remembered the baby.
My daughter and I began again and I found myself struggling not only to keep up, but to let go. We made several more passes, ending up in front of my neighbor working on his motorcycle. My wife had joined him to watch us. I stretched my back and noticed as I paused to catch my breath that my neighbor was making a scissor-cutting motion with his fingers; as if to tell me cut her loose.
"Ready?" I asked my daughter, frowning.
"Yea." she replied looking at me for cues.
"Here we go" I smiled, and we started another run down the street. We built up speed
"Pedal fast" I called, " I'm going to let go. Watch your balance."
I let go and it felt like my heart skipped. She wobbled and wove back and forth unsteadily.
And then she rode on her own.
The first truly Spring-like day, Sunday was warm, bright and sunny with rivulets of water wearing away the remaining dirty snow and ice lining street gutters. Several of my daughter's neighborhood friends were outside riding their bikes and soon were invited to the park.
The year before, my first attempt at teaching my daughter to ride her bike had gone awry.
Overly eager, I had let her go too soon though she was not quite ready, and she'd fallen. Nothing I said could sooth her ego or get her back on the bike.
My daughter decided to ride her scooter, but could not keep up as her friends peddled ahead. Abandoning her scooter, she clung to my side and held my hand. She was quiet as she walked, but still defiant; running ahead to stop her friends while I returned the scooter she had dejectedly decided she no longer wanted to bring.
We reached the park and played, sloshing around the sloppy ice rink and watching a torrent of ice melt run it's course into a sewer drain beside the rink. On our way back, I asked my daughter, who had been eying her friends resignedly, about learning to ride.
"Would you like to try riding your bike again?" I started, hoping to draw her out.
"No." she replied; the word edged with finality, but ending with regret.
"Why not, honey?" I was treading on tender territory.
"I dunno."
"Does it scare you?" I asked quietly. It was a question meant for just her and I. The last thing I wanted was to shred her already tattered confidence regarding bicycles by exposing her fears publicly. Granted, her friends were half way around the park, from us, but tell that to a seven-year old.
"...yes." It came out as a whisper.
"I know last time was really scary. We should try again" I said, "and this time we won't do anything until you tell me you're ready".
"She's going too far ahead" my daughter said, changing the topic. She pointed ahead to the other girls growing distance. I called to her friends to wait for us and they paused. My daughter and I continued walking hand in hand and our conversation rotated to other topics.
Halfway between the park and home, my daughter startled me.
"When we get home, I want to try again" she stated unequivocally watching her two friends biking up ahead.
"OK." I replied, unsure how to respond "That's awesome".
"And I want to practice each day, after school." she continued.
"...OK" I said, encouraged.
As we neared our house, it became obvious I had my own issues to resolve. The closer we came, the more I feared putting her on the bicycle again. I felt so guilty and responsible for failing her last time. She had trusted in me and I'd failed her. Part of me feared failing again, crushing her trust in me to make things right. I'd watched the neighborhood children zipping around and had assumed it was the father's who had taught them.
The other part of me knew I wanted to make things right.
Reaching home, we parted ways with her friends and went inside to shed our winter gear in favor of tennis. When my wife heard of our plans, she decided to join us. I pulled my daughter's bike from the garage and removed the training wheels. My daughter's excitement became palpable and overtook any evident fear.
Our neighborhood is a constant cluster of activity. My daughter's friends were riding around the cul-de-sac at the end of the block as their father worked on his motorcycle in the driveway. Another neighbor played basketball with his young boys. Cars are a frequent concern. My daughter and I brought out her bike and rolled it towards the cul de sac. My wife had worried that her friends on their bicycles might distract my daughter. I brought my daughter's bike to a spot and my daughter climbed on.
"How're we doing?" I asked her.
"Good" she replied, a bit nervous.
She struggled keeping the bike upright.
"Try to find your balance" I encouraged. "Let me know when you're ready"
"I will" she said pausing for a moment, "OK, I"m ready".
Holding onto the back of her seat, I began pushing her along.
"Pedal fast" I said breathlessly. I'm not in very good shape and feared that I might run out of energy and stumble. She began pedaling faster. We continued and I held on to keep her balance, afraid to let go lest she crash right out of the starting gate. We splashed through a large puddle and turned into the cul de sac.
"OK...stop" I wheezed, bringing her to a slow halt. We turned around and started again. I could feel the burn in my legs and lungs. We reached the exit for the cul de sac and met up with my wife, who looked at me oddly.
"Maybe you shouldn't do this in the cul de sac" she offered. "It's hard to get momentum when you have to turn all the time. Just go straight down the street." This seemed really obvious, but I hadn't thought of it, so I nodded and brought my daughter to a starting spot before the puddle and aimed her bike down the street towards our house.
"Honey, watch down the street as you peddle. "My wife told my daughter "don't watch yourself peddle." I began wondering why I was doing this and not my wife. She seemed to have the training down, but then I remembered the baby.
My daughter and I began again and I found myself struggling not only to keep up, but to let go. We made several more passes, ending up in front of my neighbor working on his motorcycle. My wife had joined him to watch us. I stretched my back and noticed as I paused to catch my breath that my neighbor was making a scissor-cutting motion with his fingers; as if to tell me cut her loose.
"Ready?" I asked my daughter, frowning.
"Yea." she replied looking at me for cues.
"Here we go" I smiled, and we started another run down the street. We built up speed
"Pedal fast" I called, " I'm going to let go. Watch your balance."
I let go and it felt like my heart skipped. She wobbled and wove back and forth unsteadily.
And then she rode on her own.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
No Man's Zone or Old Man's Zone, take your pick
My seven-year old daughter and I were playing hallway soccer as winter stormed outside. We had closed the doors to the bathroom and two bedrooms; effectively creating a dead end to the hallway. I stood at the opposite end where the hallway met the living room. My daughter defended the dead end. We had quickly agreed that I would not advance past a certain point. She also would not kick the ball beyond one of the doors. This turned a space of the hallway into a no-man zone.
With few rules we were basically just kicking the little soft and plush ball back and forth, giggling.
Every few kicks one of us would either make the ball go airborne or it'd sail into the living room; sending me chasing under furniture. I returned from the hallway at a point and lamely kicked launched the ball with a socked foot.
It landed in the space where none could enter.
"Oh, daddy," my daughter giggled "You sent the ball into the Old Man's Zone"
With few rules we were basically just kicking the little soft and plush ball back and forth, giggling.
Every few kicks one of us would either make the ball go airborne or it'd sail into the living room; sending me chasing under furniture. I returned from the hallway at a point and lamely kicked launched the ball with a socked foot.
It landed in the space where none could enter.
"Oh, daddy," my daughter giggled "You sent the ball into the Old Man's Zone"
Monday, March 09, 2009
Today
I met with my advisor today for Metro State. I'm planning on finishing my schooling with a degree in technical writing.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Catheters and Cat litter...
I was cooking in the kitchen. It wasn't one of my better nights for cooking. After a full day of installing home-made hardware for home sewn window shades, I was rushing to get food made. My wife and daughter were watching TV in our living room when I heard -
"Why is that commercial selling cat litter?" My daughter wondered aloud.
"No, honey, it's not for cat litter " my wife corrected. "it's a commercial for a catheter".
"Why is that commercial selling cat litter?" My daughter wondered aloud.
"No, honey, it's not for cat litter " my wife corrected. "it's a commercial for a catheter".
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