Photo by SuckerPunch Gourmet on Unsplash
Pig tailed and sitting tall
in a white t-shirt
trimmed in lace, you balance
on the white pleather seat
of a pink bike in the Tacoma Walmart.
"Smile," I say, and snap a picture.
You look like a candy cane.
Your brother and I had picked you
up and surprised you with donuts.
We have 48 hours together.
A weekend.
Shared custody makes every choice
feel so heavy.
I want to fill each moment with a memory,
overflowing like the raspberry jelly
your donut can’t contain,
sweet and sticky memories of our time together.
We drive home,
to the house where we once lived together.
Your room has not changed.
This visit will be defined by pink
handlebar streamers,
a glittery bike
helmet, and a white plastic basket made
to look like wicker.
I run behind you, hand under
your seat, holding the bike
steady as you scream and giggle,
as we scream and giggle,
your legs pedaling furiously
and my feet rushing to keep up.
As the day continues,
and you work to coordinate
all of the movements there are
some falls,
but scraped knees don't deter you,
and you let me wipe your tears
as you climb back on
and try again.
Soon enough you've found it
your own balance
your own freedom
and the strength of
your own legs to carry you away.
"I'm doing it!"
you cry and I feel my hand
begin to let go, my grip
loosening from the seat
as you begin to ride
on your own.
"Did you see?"
you ask,
turning the bike back
towards me and stopping by my side.
"I did!"
I say.
"You're amazing!"
The following day,
you’ve got it fully figured out,
and as the weekend comes to an end,
you park your bike
and we say goodbye.
“What does a father do with his hands
when they are no longer needed to hold
you up or keep you
from falling?” I think.
Relegated to high fives
or opening pickle jars.
Maybe that's why dads take so many pictures,
something to do
with our hands
and to document your transformation
to independence.
No longer needed to hold
you up,
or to wipe your tears,
I raise my hand
to wave goodbye
and wipe my own.
F Cade Swanson is a queer dad who grew up in Southeast Virginia. He runs a school foundation, and writes stories about parenting, family, and chronic illness. Read more at fcadeswanson.com and follow him at @fcadeswanson on Twitter and Instagram.