Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

This is a tribute, my father, or to fathers in general, but to all of the men who are partners or friends in one way or another.

And, of course, to the dads who ride bikes.

Now, I know that sometimes parents will "sneak" out for a ride on their kid's bike--at least, if the kid is of a certain age.  But it's not often we see a dad on a bike designed for a seven-year-old girl.

What made Peter Williams all the more incongruous on his daughter's little pink bike is that he's six feet tall.  But he didn't just toodle around the block on his kid's toy:  he pedaled it 211 miles from Bristol to Land's End, the farthest point on England's west coast.

His ride raised over 52,000 GBP--more than five times his goal--for research into brain tumors, the cause of his daughter Ellie's death at age 7.

He and his wife, Kaz, had given Ellie the bike for what would be her last Christmas, though neither of them realized it at the time.  He and Kaz would soon notice, however, that her eye started to cross and that "it wasn't just a facial gesture."  Soon after, the once-athletic girl started to lose her balance, and her confidence.  They brought her to a doctor, who ordered an MRI.  The results revealed the frightening news:  Ellie had a brain tumor and only months to live.

She was diagnosed in Bristol, where Peter started his ride.  Although he and Kaz have their own bikes and regularly participate in group rides, he rode his Ellie's bike because seeing it made him sad and he realized that the best way to deal with his feelings was to "put it to good use."

That, he did.  

Happy Father's Day!

Some parents talk about their failures in raising their children.  Of course, "failure" can be defined in any number of ways:  Perhaps the child didn't follow the career path the parents wanted.  Or he or she married the "wrong" person or didn't get married at all--or didn't have kids.  Or end up with the lifestyle the parents envisioned.

I have to say, I am guilty on all counts. My career and lifestyle are nothing like what my parents--especially my father--wanted from and for me.  And, yes, I married the "wrong" person--and never married again after that.  But none of that is either of my parents' fault--really.

I will, however, admit there is one area in which I've failed miserably in the making of my parents.  You see, I tried to turn both of them into cyclists--even to the point of giving them bicycles as gifts for some occasion or another.  I don't think my mother ever rode hers (If I recall, it was sold when my parents moved from New Jersey to Florida.) and my father may have ridden a couple of times with me.  Though his bike survived the move, it, too was eventually sold.

So...I can't say that my father (or mother) and I bonded over bike riding.  For that matter, if I recall correctly, I didn't learn how to ride from either of them:  I got those lessons from my grandfather (who died before I turned eight) and an uncle.  

I failed, but I think my parents have forgiven me by now.  A lot has been forgiven, or simply written off as vodka under the bridge, as Alexandr Revva might say. 

(Why did I choose him?  I confess:  He's one of the few Russians whose name I can spell!)

Anyway, in the spirit of father-child relationships, I offer this, from one of my favorite comic-strip series:

Happy Father's Day!