There once lived a man, an ordinary man of no great importance to the world, but for me he was my daddy.  In my eyes, he will always be brave.  A little hot tempered, but always my father. 

He walked with a slight limp, smoked like a chimney, worked in the cane field from dawn to dusk but somehow, he always made time for me.  One of those special times was our bicycle for two.  Through a child's eye, I would look at him in awe as he would mount the bicycle while  mother dearest lifted me up to sit in front, side saddle with a pillow to cushion my bottom for comfort. 

I can still see his legs peddling.  One leg shorter than the other and still able to maneuver the bicycle, all the while whistling softly.  Looking back now, I understand what life meant for him.  Exhausted, maybe even angry at what  was dealt but somehow he always managed to smile, even laugh aloud at my curiosity while I pointed at something or someone, trying to distract him. 

On one occasion, I remember him scolding me on the bicycle: "If you make us fall off this bike, you not riding with me anymore.  Furthermore, me not gonna pick you up off the road.  You know that, so now keep still."  And with my sharp tongue, replied, "You always pick me when I fall papa, you always do."

And he laughed softly, kissing me lightly on the top of my head as we rode on our bicycle for two.

© 2003 by Ann Diamond.   All rights reserved.