Daddy Stock

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I’ll never forget that hot afternoon when Kate came bounding into the kitchen.

“I did it! I rode my bike without training wheels! I did it!!!”

I squealed with excitement, helped her with her helmet, and got her a cup of lemonade.

That’s when Paul came in. He was dripping with sweat, sunburned, and too exhausted to form words. He just gave me a nod and a fist pump. He had done it. He had turned this crying, blubbering, petrified 5 year old into a bike rider. No more training wheels. No easy task. His “daddy stock” was at an all-time high.

But then summer turned to fall, the snow swirled, and Kate grew. In just a few short months, she outgrew her bike. Time marched on and on with no bike riding practice. Last week, we finally got her another bike. (Thank you D.I.) You know that expression, “it’s just like riding a bike?” A crock.  She was terrified of that pink contraption all over again. Tears. Hot, frightened tears.

And that is why I married Paul. Tears don’t phase him. Under the glow of the street lamp, in the cool of the night, he perched Kate on her new bike and ran along side her, up and down our little street again, and again, and again. After about 5 minutes, her water works stopped and she was riding! I stood there in our driveway with Dean tucked under my coat, whooping and cheering and waking up our retired neighbors thinking, “She got it! She got it!”

And then I thought, “And I got him.”

That’s good stock.

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