Watch Me, Daddy. Watch Me.
--
August 2006
They were the words I heard when K was a young girl. After getting my attention, she would demonstrate something she had just discovered for the very first time: a new way to dive into the pool, a new sliding soccer kick or another way to climb the monkey bars. When she finished, she beamed with excitement and laughter as I went on about how stupendous she was.
My words of encouragement are different now that K is a young woman. She has a life and direction all her own and I'm mindful of that when she tackles something new.
It was the beginning of this summer and K was on the back patio sweating like a longshoreman on overtime as she installed clipless pedals on her mountain bike. Like any good dad, I was hovering nearby (in the comforts of the air-conditioned great room), ready to offer my assistance, but knowing I couldn't. Under the guise of reading a history book, I peered through the plantation shutters every ten minutes to watch her progress.
She wasn't stuck, but she was going slow, so I walked outside with a glass of ice-cold water and asked her how it was going. (Oh, how clever we parents are. Did I mention clever? I did?) She thanked me for the water, said OK, talked about a few things and went back to work. Being a clever parent, I returned to the comfort of my book.
Later on, I looked through the shutters and saw her standing over her completed efforts. There was a contented look to her face. She was dirty up to her elbows with chain grease and a touch of it had magically rouged her chin and cheek. She spun one pedal, then the other, satisfied in knowing she installed them herself.
Months later, I saw her return from a Saturday bicycling trek along the Consolidated Canal. Though she'd been a bicyclist for three years, the clipless pedals had transformed her abilities. She's every inch a bicyclist now. When she reached the driveway, she effortlessly popped her shoes from their metal posts and walked up to me with a big SE smile. She had the jaunty, very self-assured gait of someone who had just eaten the proverbial cat.
Well done, K. Well done.
Love, Dad.
--
August 2006
They were the words I heard when K was a young girl. After getting my attention, she would demonstrate something she had just discovered for the very first time: a new way to dive into the pool, a new sliding soccer kick or another way to climb the monkey bars. When she finished, she beamed with excitement and laughter as I went on about how stupendous she was.
My words of encouragement are different now that K is a young woman. She has a life and direction all her own and I'm mindful of that when she tackles something new.
It was the beginning of this summer and K was on the back patio sweating like a longshoreman on overtime as she installed clipless pedals on her mountain bike. Like any good dad, I was hovering nearby (in the comforts of the air-conditioned great room), ready to offer my assistance, but knowing I couldn't. Under the guise of reading a history book, I peered through the plantation shutters every ten minutes to watch her progress.
She wasn't stuck, but she was going slow, so I walked outside with a glass of ice-cold water and asked her how it was going. (Oh, how clever we parents are. Did I mention clever? I did?) She thanked me for the water, said OK, talked about a few things and went back to work. Being a clever parent, I returned to the comfort of my book.
Later on, I looked through the shutters and saw her standing over her completed efforts. There was a contented look to her face. She was dirty up to her elbows with chain grease and a touch of it had magically rouged her chin and cheek. She spun one pedal, then the other, satisfied in knowing she installed them herself.
Months later, I saw her return from a Saturday bicycling trek along the Consolidated Canal. Though she'd been a bicyclist for three years, the clipless pedals had transformed her abilities. She's every inch a bicyclist now. When she reached the driveway, she effortlessly popped her shoes from their metal posts and walked up to me with a big SE smile. She had the jaunty, very self-assured gait of someone who had just eaten the proverbial cat.
Well done, K. Well done.
Love, Dad.
--
posted by Mike Chandler | 7:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home