Although I am not yet a parent myself, as an educator I think I have a pretty clear view of what the job of a parent entails. When I reflect on it, the concept is a bit overwhelming.
How can you possibly thank the person who molded you into who you are today, instilled the values you have, passed on your genetic traits, supported you no matter what a bonehead you were, and submerged you in the fertile soil necessary to grow into a person that is content with himself and thankful to wake up everyday and interact with the world? I suppose walking in a path he finds pleasing is most likely the most honorable thing you can do to repay him.
This past Father’s Day was a bit of a bittersweet feeling for me as my family had to face their first Father’s Day without my oldest brother. I found that it left me yearning more than ever to try and do something special for my Dad as he mourned the loss of his son and continues to try and figure out where to go from here.
As an educator of students with Emotional Impairments I often observe that the etiology of many of their struggles/problems stems from the lack of a stable male figure in their life. This was not the case for my own childhood by any means. I cannot imagine achieving what I have today without the love, support, and nurturing of my parents. Although my parents continue to grieve over their oldest son, I have observed the contentment they have that he lived a life that was pleasing to them and adhered to the values they wanted for all of us.
Jerry Seinfeld may have bought his Dad a Cadillac but I think my gift for my Dad this Father’s Day was far superior. Just as my Dad did for me when I was 17 years old and helped me attain my first wings of flight by buying me my first Gary Fisher, I now have 13 years later, reciprocated the favor.
As my interest in cycling/racing developed over the years so did my Father’s. Often times when I converse with him I find that he keeps up on the pro peleton more than I do. So what better way to compliment his fandom for the sport that to get him involved himself. Also, after building The Eagle Wing Loop earlier this year we’re going to need a trail manager.
The image of my Dad’s eyes lighting up as he asked, “is that for me?” will forever be captured in my mind as I had my nephews roll out his new Gary Fisher and present it to him. Being a retired engineer, my Dad took a good 30 minutes to luster over the technical aspects of the bike from its hydro-formed aluminum tubes to the metal flake paint. After his intricate inspection, he swung leg over the top tube to propel himself for the first of many rides on his shiny new steed.
I rolled around the block with my Dad as he commented to me, “Now I know why you can ride all those miles, this bike is so smooth!” It was at that moment that I got my first clear realization of how it must feel to receive vicarious joy from watching your own child do things that amaze you. In that moment, I didn’t see my dad, I saw a child that was filled with excitement and enthusiasm just as if they were trying something for the very first time.
For me the gift meant so much more than simply giving him the material object of the bike. A bike in and of itself is simply a tool, and unridden it is an unused tool that will never take flight. My dad gave me many tools growing up that helped me become who I am today. He never told me what to do or who I had to be, he simply gave me the right tools to soar. Although I am grieving over my family’s loss, nothing hurts me more than to see my Dad grieve over the loss of his first born son who he shared his own name. It is my hopes that the gift of this bike will serve as an effective tool to allow him to take flight and embrace the joy that I have felt through two wheels.
After recently talking to my Mom, she had exclaimed how much my dad loves his new toy. In fact, I haven’t really had much time to converse with him this week because every time I call home he is out on the bike. His goal is to ride a century before the end of the summer…stay tuned for more updates on his progress.
