The Bike Ride

As I made the turn off South College Street and steered my bicycle left onto West Washington Street, the imposing shadow of Lakeside Elementary School in Pittsburg, Kansas greeted me. I kept looking back hoping the man in the car following me would relent, and not make me go to school.  The man in the car was my father. We lived about four blocks away from the school in the small church parsonage next to the church he pastored. I am not sure how many days I had been out of school, but I do remember hanging out with Dad and Mom tending to church business was more appealing than returning to school that day. I think we may have even gone to Ken’s Pizza one day for lunch during my sabbatical from Ms. Barnett’s second grade classroom.

Maybe I was a bad student, maybe she was a mean teacher, maybe a combination of both, but I do not have fond memories of second grade.  I really do not remember being in trouble, just that she was mean. She seemed to yell an awful lot. Maybe not directly at me, but just in general. One time, an assignment was to fold manilla paper in squares, unfold and write out the sequential numbers to 1000 on the squares, on how ever many pages that took. (Just now, I just folded a piece of paper into squares to estimate what square to page ratio was used. It was probably 4 rows by 8 columns, which breaks out to 32 pages if my math is correct.)  A few kids and I were not too speedy at this assignment. While us lollygaggers completed the assignment, the rest of the class and Ms. Barnet walked to Pico’s Dairy (a few blocks away) for ice cream. I remember looking out the window as the rest of the class returned with what was left of their ice cream cones. Guess she was nice enough to take kids out for ice cream, well some of them anyway.

I had some great teachers in my school years, she wasn’t one of them. Again I put out the disclaimer, that maybe I was a bad student. Whatever the reason, the seven-year-old version of myself did not like going to school. Dad and Mom gave me a few ‘sick days’ before Dad following me to school that day and making sure I wouldn’t turn my bike around and ride back home.  Somehow, I made it through 2nd grade, and the school years that followed.

What I did not realize on that bicycle ride to school, was Dad teaching me that you cannot turn around every time you face a challenge be it self-inflicted or caused by something or someone else. I don’t even know if Dad remembers that day, but obviously I do.  

Over the years my Dad has had a good share of disappointments and heartbreaks. I am not saying his were more than the next person, but I can only write about what I know, and from what I know, there have been staggering ones. I will not list the roster of all of those, but through it all, Dad persevered.

Dad you showed and taught me a whole lot more about life than perseverance, but perhaps that bike ride to school has helped me get through rough spots in the last couple of years more than you ever knew.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you and appreciate all the lessons you taught me.

I heard this Murrell/Joan Ewing song a few weeks ago, and it made me think of you. This was one of the few versions I found online.

When the furnace we walk through gets too hot to bear
There were three Hebrew children who’ve already been there
And even the clothes on their backs would not burn
So why should I leave him now that its come my turn.