Monday Motivation: Father-Daughter Days

Friends

Hoping it was a fantastic Father’s Day for all the Dads and Granddads out there. Today, I am sharing a little tribute to my fabulous father. Daddy, you’re still the Best Dad on the block!

 

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“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;”

Psalm 103:13 – NIV

I was about to jump out of my skin with the sheer thrill of it all. I had not stopped grinning since the moment my Daddy had made his announcement at the breakfast table. Dad  had been hinting at this for awhile, but I wasn’t sure he was serious, and even if he was, I wasn’t sure Mama would let him follow through with his idea.

 

My eighth grade year was not a happy one for me. My parents had purchased their first home in a new subdivision in Columbia, SC. For most of my life, we had lived in Army quarters on post. When Army housing wasn’t available, we rented a small house or apartment . My parents were ecstatic about their first home purchase, and my mother had decorated it beautifully. Mom was always good at making any house a home, but she had outdone herself this time.

 

What none of us had counted on when we moved in to our new place was the drama I would experience at my new school. The outside of the school looked nice and new, but what happened inside those linoleum-lined hallways was far from nice. Columbia was in the throes of de-segregation, and to say that it wasn’t going well is a tremendous understatement. Inner city kids were being bused to schools in the suburbs, and neither the inner city students nor the students who resided in the surrounding community were happy with the situation. There were smoke bombs going off in the hallways and fistfights erupting at the drop of a hat. Certainly, racial tensions were running high throughout the city, but did I mention this was middle school? Budding teenagers are not known for their strong conflict resolution skills. On top of all that, middle school girls can be just plain mean, and the blonde-headed new girl made an excellent target for their aggressions.

 

To say I was miserable attending that  school doesn’t even come close to capturing the depth of my daily anguish. That’s why that particular Saturday was so important.

 

Right after breakfast, the three of us climbed into the car and made our way to the dealership. Unbeknownst to me, Daddy had been scouting things out, so he already had a pretty good idea of what he wanted and what we could afford. My heart thumped with excitement as I stepped through the glass doorway and found myself standing in a sea of motorcycles. There was everything from small motorcross bikes to luxury huge-engine road cruisers. Dad knew what he was looking for, and we focused on the smaller street bike options. Dad began the conversation with the salesman, while my eyes roamed the shiny selection in front of me. Mama had tagged along, but remained mute, going along with this idea, even if she wasn’t exactly happy about it.

 

My father’s negotiations with the salesman focused on a particular bike, and my heart skipped a beat. The shiny metallic blue of the gas tank sparkled in the sunlight, the white stripe and corresponding letters spelling out the brand, “Y-A-M-A-H-A.” My brown eyes were shining like that gleaming gas tank when Daddy said this was the one. It was a Yamaha 100, and it would soon be ours!

 

Daddy took it for a spin around the parking lot before deciding it was just right for us. He and the salesman did the deal, including two white helmets with black stripes and accompanying face shields. Daddy said he wasn’t taking any chances of messing up my pretty face.

 

I was practically jumping up and down on the pavement by the time Daddy got the engine cranked. Wanting to acclimate himself to the new ride before letting me on the back of the bike, Dad rode the bike home while Mama and I followed in the car. True to his word, once he was in our driveway, he called for me to climb on board. I hugged him tight as we roared out of the driveway, my grin growing wider with each spin of the tires.  

 

That was the beginning of our motorcycle days. Dad taught me how to ride on the back of the bike, learning to lean with the curves, and later, how to drive the bike myself. He was a great teacher, but also a stickler for perfection. Getting the hang of the hand-clutch was challenging for me, but Dad would not budge on letting me drive the bike until I could do it perfectly. He readily reminded me that he was taking no chances about the safety of his baby girl.

 

Subsequent Saturdays invariably included a long motorcycle ride out into the countryside, and even weekday evenings might find us taking a shorter ride if Dad got home from work early enough. I loved the thrill I never failed to feel as I climbed on the back of that bike, my grin a mile wide as we hit the open road and leaned into the turns together.

 

I loved motorcycle riding, but I loved the time I spent with my Daddy even more. I always knew I had his affection, but having his focused attention during that troubled year meant the world to me. When we stopped for a break to grab a Coke at a country store, we would lean together against the bike and talk. Sometimes he would tell me stories of his youth or a tall tale about the family. He always asked about my interests, and checked in about how school was going. Regardless of the topic, there was never a shortage of words between us, and I soaked up his love like a sponge. Oh, how I needed his support and encouragement in that awkward year when things were so hard.

 

Dad has told me since then that his motivation over purchasing that motorcycle was to find something he and I could do together. He saw how fast I was growing up, and he wanted to spend as much time with me as he could. He wanted to make the most of our moments together, and without a doubt, he did. Mama may not have been keen on the motorcycle riding, but she saw the fun we had with it and wisely decided that the quality time was well worth the risk.

 

More than fifty years have passed since my first ride on that shiny blue Yamaha 100, but I still grin when I think of it. That was the start of what we aptly named our “Father-Daughter Days,” a practice we kept up until well into my married life. That first motorcycle may have cost my father some cash out of his wallet, but it was worth every penny, because the memories we made together rolling down the road are priceless.

 

PRAYER

O Loving Heavenly Father, thank You for the good fathers and grandfathers, and the love and kindness they have extended to their children and grandchildren. Their support and encouragement makes such a difference in the growth and development of their children. Lord, we pray for those that don’t know the love of a good father,. May Your love surround them and draw them close. Help us all to love in such a way that those who feel unloved will see You in us.

In the Loving Name of Jesus, we pray,

Amen

 

Father’s Day Blessings,

Anita

 

-APS 6/17/2024