Some Notices this Weekend

Rifle Travel Blog

 › entry 9 of 9 › view all entries

Well I went and did it
now. She was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. What was I going to do, say no?
I mean, I’d purchased a MAD magazine for my boy just the week prior, and now in
my girl’s hot little hands was the preteen holy grail. I’m talking about TIGER
BEAT. The hard sell began almost immediately. “Look Dad, there’s Taylor Swift
right here, and here, and… here,” she offered thumbing through the pages like a
seasoned pro. I recognized the magic the moment it became evident that this
wasn’t about Justin Bieber’s favorite ice cream whatever, this was about my girl
getting older, growing up, tugging at the emotional safety rope that every
father cannot keep tethered no matter how many knots he knows.

Her nose became buried in it’s pages of angst and
coveted lifestyles the whole drive home, and this morning I found her lying on
her stomach, magazine turned to somewhere in the middle. The positive is that
she didn’t stir when I kissed her, having her attention magnetically stuck to
page 33.

I remember my sister’s obsession with the Bay City
Rollers when I was a kid, and being the consummate big brother, teased her about
it daily-- probably hourly. But the attraction was bigger than I was, than the
world was then. She and I laugh about it now, but now the laugh’s on me, and my
karmic little pumpkin upstairs enthralled in the latest doings of kiddom’s

Speaking of youth, my son’s become interested in
skateboarding! He’s been taking my Old Paint on walks with the dog. I’d
purchased the board around 1977, the time of the first skateboard craze when the
toughest tricks were jumping over things (sans board), or doing a handstand. It
was Jr. High, and the local skateboard store in my tiny speck of the state knew
the value of overpricing it’s wears to a starry-eyed punk like me. I pieced the
board together with what I felt was the best (of the time)—a Bruce Logan
Earthski wood deck, Gullwing trucks, and red Kryptonic wheels, the kind that
were fat, like those on the bottom of roller skates. It was the best $100 I
spent, having to make payments because back then a hundred dollars was like
buying a house. Somewhere in a box there’s a photo of me and a buddy from the
front page of the local paper, working on our boards in the middle of the
sidewalk, downtown, way back when it was legal to ride them--when it was
pedestrian beware. The board was my staple transportation through college, again
back when it was legal to ride them on campus.

I can’t help but feel the urge to give pointers to my
boy, who’s trying desperately to master the voodoo from this ancient piece of
wood I’ve kept all these years, so I hopped on my dusty trusty skateboard from
my youth and discovered that for moments at a time I’m not the dinosaur I
thought I was, knocking on a couple of doors before turning 50. I was amazed
that I still could ride, and well enough to have my son’s admiration and full
attention to boot!

I’m so thankful and pleased that I had these moments of
awareness this weekend, despite the muddiness from adult responsibilities and
worries that come with the job of being the one in charge of the ship. When it’s
smooth sailing, life is but a dream I never wish to wake from.

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photo by: Bulldog1up