Thoughts of a father accepting his two-year-old daughter's deafness
6/23/86 Tempe, Arizona
Often, I meet no one as I bike the canal to my gym. It's probably the time of day that I ride. It's 7 p.m. and many people are recovering from dinner and the news. The solitary runners I do meet will wave and continue on, as do I, both of us quickly returning to our thoughts. Mine are reflective and mostly about the day's events. After awhile, the day and its problems are solved or forgotten.
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Canal Snapshots
It's quiet along the canal at dusk - couples stroll by and nod hello, followed by runners checking their pulse. The runners quickly wave as they pass. The birds feeding on the banks hardly move for our presence. A family of ducks uses the canal's currents to find quieter areas.
The heat from the packed dirt path mixes with the evening temperature to make bicycling a canonizing act. Once in awhile I get lucky and briefly interrupt a cool breeze escaping from the water. It swirls in the evening heat and disappears behind me. The respite is quick and forgotten. The damned heat remains.
A harbinger of seasons is missing from the surrounding area. Sheep and their graze land, once plentiful, are gone. Subdivisions now line the canal. Only a short run of rusted wire fence in a nearby clump of cottonwoods mark their passing. I feel the tingle of childhood memories as I slowly ride by. Foot trails leading to the tiny cottonwood haven show signs of children's play. They, too, have found a respite.
The next mile is filled with romps and discoveries as I remember my youth. Captured times quickly flicker, leaving me awash with unresolved endings and forgotten faces. The days of summer woofle-ball and neighborhood friendships are replaced with present day thoughts and responsibilities. I begin pedaling faster.
The spillway signals my turnoff. I hear its roar above the traffic. I begin a slow stop in the canal road gravel. I patiently wait for a lull in traffic, feeling the sweat run down my legs and pool in my shoes.
The drivers play with bicyclists out here, so after several false starts, I cross the road. My canal is left behind.
---
Often, I meet no one as I bike the canal to my gym. It's probably the time of day that I ride. It's 7 p.m. and many people are recovering from dinner and the news. The solitary runners I do meet will wave and continue on, as do I, both of us quickly returning to our thoughts. Mine are reflective and mostly about the day's events. After awhile, the day and its problems are solved or forgotten.
-------
Canal Snapshots
It's quiet along the canal at dusk - couples stroll by and nod hello, followed by runners checking their pulse. The runners quickly wave as they pass. The birds feeding on the banks hardly move for our presence. A family of ducks uses the canal's currents to find quieter areas.
The heat from the packed dirt path mixes with the evening temperature to make bicycling a canonizing act. Once in awhile I get lucky and briefly interrupt a cool breeze escaping from the water. It swirls in the evening heat and disappears behind me. The respite is quick and forgotten. The damned heat remains.
A harbinger of seasons is missing from the surrounding area. Sheep and their graze land, once plentiful, are gone. Subdivisions now line the canal. Only a short run of rusted wire fence in a nearby clump of cottonwoods mark their passing. I feel the tingle of childhood memories as I slowly ride by. Foot trails leading to the tiny cottonwood haven show signs of children's play. They, too, have found a respite.
The next mile is filled with romps and discoveries as I remember my youth. Captured times quickly flicker, leaving me awash with unresolved endings and forgotten faces. The days of summer woofle-ball and neighborhood friendships are replaced with present day thoughts and responsibilities. I begin pedaling faster.
The spillway signals my turnoff. I hear its roar above the traffic. I begin a slow stop in the canal road gravel. I patiently wait for a lull in traffic, feeling the sweat run down my legs and pool in my shoes.
The drivers play with bicyclists out here, so after several false starts, I cross the road. My canal is left behind.
---
posted by Mike Chandler | 4:39 PM
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