Father-Daughter Time

I am the luckiest daughter in the world because I can count my father as not only my ‘Daddy’ but also as one of my best friends. This did not happen overnight. When I and my brother were little we drove Dad crazy with our antics. He yelled a lot, his face turning red and bulgy as he tried to get us to rein in our shenanigans. Daddy was often a scary guy and therefore someone to be avoided.

That changed when I got my first bicycle at seven years old. It was brand new, shining in its emerald green metallic paint and all mine on a Christmas morning. Unfortunately, I was about as clutsy as they come and even though several of my friends had tried to teach me how to ride I simply couldn’t get the hang of balancing, pushing pedals and steering all at once. Several dashes to the street and subsequent gravel plucking from my knees later, Mom decided that I needed some extra help. She sent Dad on a mission – spend time with your daughter and teach her how to ride her bike. Indoor activities like helping in the kitchen were her territory. She reasoned that outdoor activities like pitching baseballs with my brother and teaching me how to handle a bicycle were a father’s venue.

I think we were both equally nervous when we met for our first lesson together. I knew Dad mostly as this angry guy. Not all the time nor nearly as much over time as I’d gotten older, but often enough to still make me cautious. He was supposed to show his clumsy child how to achieve balance. And a girl at that. He didn’t seem any more certain of how to start than I did, but somehow we muddled through. And I quickly learned something wonderful - Daddy could be incredibly patient when he was teaching you something! He was gentle and firm and persistent. After several ill-fated attempts and wobbly half-successes over what felt like weeks but may have only been a few days, he felt confident enough in my abilities to pull the old stunt of pretending to hold onto the back of my seat to steady me and instead letting go as I sped down the street.

It was a miraculous moment. To be followed by many more.

Daddy was the main one to teach me how to drive a car. Mom’s nerves just couldn’t quite handle being in a moving vehicle with her teenagers. And it was yet another chance for us children and our father to enjoy some bonding time.

Daddy was my date to the semi-formal dance my senior year when my date ditched me at the last minute. Daddy took me out to the movies to make up for the fact that we couldn’t afford for me to attend prom and still pay for the braces already glittering on my teeth. And when he began studying to enter the ministry, I was one of his proof-readers and critics as he crafted sermons for Sunday services, since I also had writing talent and a decent education to go with it.

He is still someone I can share just about anything with. We trade stories and jokes as well as more serious topics and information. He and my Mom are two of my best friends. And for me it all started with him teaching me how to ride a bike. That first true one-on-one bonding time has been the cornerstone for a relationship that has spanned nearly 45 years now and still going strong.