When the second of our daughters was a preschooler, she was also an early riser. It was mostly convenient that she’d get up earlier than her siblings; she gave her parents a headstart each day on managing three little ones.
Except on vacation. At those times, which to young parents represent the chance to finally catch up on some sleep, she’d be up early and would wake her younger brother and older sister too.
Finally, during one trip to Florida, her parents negotiated a deal. Well, actually, I agreed to an ultimatum.
I would get up with Erin and occupy her until her sister and brother awoke. I figured a well-rested wife made it worth it, and maybe I could catch extra sleep by going to bed earlier.
I quickly learned that she was determined to involve her siblings in her morning routine, despite my ideas. I had to get her out of our condo.
So I got an idea.
I rented a bike with child seat, and I took her on a ride. It was perfect. She was occupied; the others slept; I got a little exercise. No matter how much noise she made, she wouldn’t wake up her mother.
I admit it was pure self-interest on my part, a way to manage a child who already had a way of getting her way. It became an annual ritual on our vacations.
When she was in the third or fourth grade, the first week of school brought the “what I did this summer” assignment, which required a drawing.
And so she drew a picture of the two of us on a bicycle, on a ride in Florida. That was what she remembered about her summer vacation.
To her, it was fun, not my plot to distract her.
Usually we’d get lucky and see some unusual bird, or a big lizard, or even sometimes an alligator at a safe distance in a pond – dramatic episodes to recount for her mother and siblings.
I share that story because my early-morning cycling partner will be walking across a stage in Ohio today to receive her college diploma.
And we still take vacation bike rides together. In fact, we did so last summer. It’s something she’s insisted on through all these years.
Even as a young adult, she slips into her parents’ bedroom on vacation to wake me and get me to join her on a morning ride.
We’ve advanced from a child seat to tandem bikes to each having our own.
At times, siblings and cousins have lobbied to join us. We didn’t say “no,” but we’d arise much earlier than we knew any other vacationing family member would, claiming that we didn’t want to wake the others.
Today I have to pause and reflect on how those rides have marked our relationship, and given us the moments fathers and daughters can miss out on.
We have important memories, and as a father I’ve enjoyed some insightful conversations with my daughter.
During the height of her high school soccer training, she once extended the ride for many more miles than I was prepared to ride in Florida’s morning heat, but I survived. When I finally recovered from that ride, I realized how hard she’d prepared for the upcoming season – something I’d overlooked to that point. I remain aware and proud of her work ethic and persistence.
I see now, as I think about her as the confident young woman she’s become, that it was on these rides that I learned many of the most important things I know about her.
When she was young, I gained the important knowledge of her favorite color, who her best friends were, and why she liked soccer more than softball. In retrospect, things that seem unimportant helped me understand what was on her mind; the things a daughter doesn’t always easily tell her father.
We’d sometimes stop for breakfast and talk about the summer reading she’d been assigned. I learned she had little patience for writers who didn’t keep the story moving. I re-read “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” thanks to her, and I learned to keep my own stories moving.
As she grew up, I became aware of what her aspirations were, her career plans and that she was planning on graduate school.
So when the application process started, I recognized how much it meant to her, and I reveled in the phone calls seeking my advice.
And I learned a lot of important things in between.
She prefers to learn and understand things her way. From that child’s seat behind me she’d ask constant questions; she’s still that way, a determined learner who understands by seeing and asking.
And so I know and appreciate things about her that I might otherwise not.
Here’s the most important thing:
As a child, she showed me how to have a strong relationship with her. Even with an older sister and little brother, we’ve found our common ground and joke openly about the dreaded middle child syndrome.
Perhaps we avoided that because of this: people often tell us that we’re a lot alike. That we look alike and sound alike. That we approach problems in a similar way. For certain, we both remain early risers.
When we take our inevitable bike rides this summer, I’ll be reminded of the many we’ve enjoyed together.
They’ve given me the moments to see the best things in my daughter, and I’ll reflect on how lucky I’ve been.
And I’ll hope she understands as she moves on with her life how much those rides have meant to me.
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