Cydney Calagayan: The Good Provider

         He took his first sip of his bottled water after he and Betty finished their lunch and before they had to bike the fourteen miles back on trail to return to their Honda Odyssey in the parking lot. Betty, Peter’s thirteen-year-old daughter, was five yards ahead of him as she listened to her iPod. She was listening to “Take This Life” by Paul Wright, a Christian rock singer; the playlist Betty was listening to was all Christian rock or contemporary Christian, featuring artists such as the aforementioned Paul Wright, DC Talk, Steven Curtis Chapman, Kutless, Third Day, etc.
         Peter Abercrombie always enjoyed bike rides with his three little girls, such as Betty. Six years ago, back when he taught English to sixth-graders at an all-male school in Visalia, Peter would often guide his kids on bike rides either through the safe suburban streets or on bicycle paths and trails. When his first-born, Betty, and his second oldest, Linda, were toddlers, Peter would put them in a protective cart attached to his bicycle so that he could show them the beautiful outside world around them and take them out of the house. When Betty and then Linda became a few years older, their dad didn’t delay in teaching them to bike. Granted, Betty and Linda didn’t learn at the same amount of time, but no matter how many errors, falls, scrapes, and frustrations, Peter always believed in them and showed pride in them once Betty and Linda accomplished the rite of passage of riding a bicycle. His youngest daughter, Michelle, was fifteen months old, only old enough to be tugged along in that cart. And Peter’s current job, as an Assemblyman for District 77, regularly kept him in the city of Creston, away from home. So Danielle, his wife of eighteen years, allowed Betty to travel alone to visit Peter on weekends once she turned thirteen.
         Almost halfway towards their destination, Betty slowed down and parked her bicycle. Peter also decelerated as he saw her pull out her digital camera to view an object to the right side of the trail. “Hey Betty!” cried out Peter. “What are you looking at?”
         “A rabbit, Dad,” she replied as she took one snapshot. “I think it’s a jackrabbit.”
         “Oh yeah,” he commented as he spotted the animal. “The eastern dark jackrabbit. Been ticking off farmers since it left the endangered species list.”
         “Whaddaya mean?”
         “Well, what happened was the jackrabbit population skyrocketed from 7,600 to 29,000. Seventy-five percent of the jackrabbits live in California, where they wander off from the national forests and other habitats onto farmland. There, the jackrabbits eat the crops and damage the plants. The farmers are demanding technology to remove these critters, like vacuums that capture prairie dogs over in the Midwest.”
         “Why would you kill a prairie dog? Prairie dogs are cute.” The jackrabbit had bounced away from sight.
         “Well, sweetheart, as somebody who has to talk with farmers on an occasion, I cannot deny their demands just because the furry little pests are ‘cute.’” Betty hopped back on her bike and pedaled. She kept her speed within talking distance.
         “Do the farmers want to kill the rabbits or just keep ‘em out?”
         “Well, the farmers don’t wanna get in trouble with the Environmental Protection Agency or guys like that. But…uh…”
         “Daddy, are you for the farmers or the jackrabbits?” Peter was surprised at such a blunt question. Good thing she didn’t stop and make eye contact.
         “Uhh…do I have to answer that?”
         “I think so. If it’s one thing I know about politicians, it’s that they have to face tough questions.”
         “Okay, Betty. I will respond to that by saying…I have no comment. Now that’s another thing you should know about us politicians.”
         “Heh heh heh! Oh Daddy! Just don’t put them back on the endangered list.”
         “Well the jackrabbits didn’t vote for me, but I’ll see what I can do.” As the father and daughter biked the last few miles to the parking lot, he appreciated and very much valued the time and talks with Betty. Ever since he was elected Assemblyman of the 77th District, he had to live in two locations away from home. One was in the district office in Creston, the other in the State Capitol in Sacramento. Peter’s wife and kids didn’t like this separation so much but prepared for it, considering that he would be elected. Betty herself was worried about her relationship with him, thinking that they would grow apart with the physical distance. But as it turned out, they were actually growing closer as a parent and child, thanks to email and the occasional Instant Messaging at night. And Betty knew that as she would enter adolescence, life wouldn’t be so easy or simple. So she would talk to Peter for a little advice, compassion, or solace. Incidentally, there was tension building up between her and her mom, but Peter and Danielle were handling the situation sensibly.
         On the drive back to Peter’s home and in the remaining twelve hours or so that Betty was around, the two didn’t talk too much about anything important. Both Peter and Betty were thankful to be spending this time together without saying anything. Peter bid farewell to his daughter at the bus depot, and then he fixed himself a TV dinner and watched the Yankees, his favorite team, play the Blue Jays on ESPN. He also spoke to his family on the phone during that time.
         By Monday morning, it was back to serving the city of Creston along with the other mountain hamlets of the 77th District. Back to his vermilion tie and long-sleeved shirt, something he always wore even in the summer. Back to listening to a jazz station that played only Duke Ellington songs on XM Radio on his commute. Back to enjoying powdered donut holes from Dunkin Donuts and his Sanka coffee, with cream and without sugar, prior to checking his messages in various forms. Peter read a letter from a citizen who had twenty-three acres on his home on the outskirts of Creston, postmarked nine days before. The letter-writer, like the farmers, complained about those pesky jackrabbits ruining his garden. The Assemblyman contemplated about responding, telling this person that his misfortunes aren’t concerning as those who must produce a garden for the markets. But his schedule, which included an interview with a reporter from The Sacramento Bee, put the issue that was written in the letter on the back burner.
Peter’s interview was scheduled at 12:45, so he decided to eat an hour earlier than usual. While waiting in line at a Subway restaurant, Arthur Panella, an old high school classmate and now Creston’s city manager, spotted him. “Hey! Abercrombie!”
         Peter turned around. “Yeah? H-hey, Arthur! Long time no see!”
         Arthur shook Peter’s hand and embraced him. “What’s going on, Peter?”
         “Not much, man, except I have an interview with The Bee.”
         “Fresno or Sacramento?”
         “The latter. What’s going on with you?”
         “I’m currently working on a deal with the Crusaders. SVSU is now pulling for me to have them host this season’s swimming & diving tournaments. It would be a first for the school and I think many people would come to watch.”
         “Oh yeah. San Vicente now has that new, hi-tech aquatics facility, right?”
         “Yep. It’s all indoors so swimmers can practice any time of year. You can thank John Singleton for that.” John Singleton, Class of ’00, was an Aussie swimmer who set new records for the school and the school’s athletic conference. He would then win an assortment of swimming tournaments Down Under and then collect seven medals, four of them gold, at the Sydney Olympics, making his country proud. A year earlier, the Australian swimming superstar donated $700,000 to finance San Vicente State’s aquatics center.
         Arthur then heard his number called. “Hold on, man. That’s me. Can I save you a table?”
         “Of course! We’ll talk.” Arthur then went to pick up his meatball sandwich and bottled water and sat down to eat. Peter had to wait three minutes to get his turkey & Swiss sub and medium Sierra Mist. He located his old friend and they resumed their conversation.
         “How’s Adrienne?” asked Peter.
         “She’s alright. Joey, Mark, and Anna are all right. How’re Danielle and the girls?”
         “They’re okay. In fact, Betty came to visit me this weekend. We went biking on the trail.”
         “That’s cool.” Arthur sipped his water and then said, “Peter, have you heard about Matt and Frances?” Matt and Frances were high school sweethearts who married seven months after graduation.
         “Oh yeah. Nice couple. How long have they been together?”
         “Up until this May. They separated. Word on the street is that Matt wants to file for divorce.”
         Peter reacts with a slight sympathetic concern. “Wellll, they did marry young. How many kids do they got?”
         “Three. I think one of them’s autistic.”
         “Well, I do wish the family my prayers and most sincere thoughts, but I ain’t the kind of guy who indulges in gossip.”
         “Neither am I, Peter. That’s why I won’t tell you why they’re having these kinds of problems. Can I change the subject?”
         “Please.”
         “How are things going with that…that human genome research?”
         “It’s going pretty good. But unfortunately I’ve got one lobbyist who’s been up my gluteus maximus for partisan reasons regarding this kind of research.”
         “Is that so?” Arthur said before finishing half of his sandwich.
         “Yeah. Her name is Jennifer. (I forget what her last name is.) She works for the laboratory over at SVSU. Her wishes for the research are so left-wing that they could compromise my ethics.”
         “So why can’t you look for a more conservative person who’s interested in this particular thing?”
         “Because, Arthur, Jennifer is the only person I know who has as much knowledge of bioengineering as I do. I don’t think I can influence a more conservative lobbyist unless I become, like, a U.S. Senator or Representative. Until then, genomes come second to education, environment, and pesky jackrabbits.”
         “Didn’t we, like, take the dark jackrabbit off the endangered species list a year ago?”
         “Yeah. But that’s the thing about rabbits. They [the two speak simultaneously] multiply.”

         The rest of Assemblyman Abercrombie’s day went smoothly, from his newspaper interview to meeting with an education lobbyist. When Peter returned home, he fixed himself a Spam Caesar salad and a Pepsi, and read his two newspapers, The Wall Street Journal and The Crestonian. He then remembered the couple that Arthur was talking about—Matt and Frances—and how they were no longer living happily ever after. Peter had actually heard rumors from email and certain websites that Matt was with another woman, particularly one of college age. Peter was actually about to use his computer and log on to the Standard High alumni website, where he learned about Matt and Frances over the message boards. He seldom left messages of his own, fearing responses from alumni to stay in touch. It also occurred to Peter that he and Danielle also went out in high school. But they only dated as sophomores, went back to being just friends between that time and graduation, and were apart for three years before they courted again and married. He examined all the framed pictures on the furniture between the TV set and the foyer. As he was doing this, Peter was tempted to think, I’m sure glad that we’re not Matt & Frances. But as a Christian or probably someone who believes in karma, he knew it was a bit of a sin to think that he or his family was better than anyone. So, he said a prayer to thank the Lord for his family and to ask for strength and courage that challenges might bring to him and his family, especially as he lived away from them. Peter also prayed fro others such as Matt, Frances and their kids. Finally, Peter turned on the television and watched a Catholic-run station; on the air was “Corliss Archer.” He wondered why that show wasn’t on Nick at Nite when they used to show ‘50’s programs over a decade ago, but got lost in the sitcom’s charm and wit.
         If only life could be so simple, Peter ultimately thought.