February in Review

If you haven't been to Christie's flickr site recently (and if you haven't - why not?), you don't know that Wrigley mastered the art of riding a bicycle on two wheels this week. It's both an amazing development and a mundane event at the same time. Mundane, of course, because everybody learns to ride a bike and (spoiler alert!) every hack poet writes a poem about it. And amazing, of course, because I honestly thought Wrigley would never learn to ride a bike. I, proud papa, have done absolutely nothing to help her. No encouragement, no running through the park holding her handlebars while squirrels frolic and birds sing, no training wheels - nothing. Christie spent some time (not much time) last spring and summer hauling Wrig around on the trail-a-bike, but it's been months since Wrig even sat on her trail-a-bike.

But spring springs (actually, false spring springs) and we've been outside all week. Wrig has been rolling through the last few months on her scooter - teaching herself about balance and momentum. Suddenly, she felt the time was right to learn how to ride. After one major meltdown (maybe one and a half), she was flying down the sidewalk, happy as an "eagle soaring through the air" (her poetry, not mine). Really, it was that easy.

With a little more effort, could we have taught Wrigley to ride a bike last summer? or even the summer before? Maybe. Maybe not. But it surely wouldn't have been a "piece of cake" (my cliche, not Wrig's).

February Stats:
Days in the Month of Feb: 29 (!)
Days Spent Completely, Utterly, Uselessly Ill: 6.5
Poems Written: 16
Poems I like: 13
Poems Posted: 4
Embarrassingly Bad Poems Written About Leap Day on Leap Day: 1

Year to Date:
Days: 60
Poems: 36 (36 poems out of 60 days? Not so good. 35 poems more than grand total for all last year? Pretty dang good.)
Poems I like: 22

Without further ado-whack-ado:

This is How Fatherhood Feels
February 26, 2008

You are following the bike
which, despite wobbling
treacherously between
fence on the left
and curb on the right,
relentlessly gains speed.

Your jaw aches
from biting back advice
neither wanted nor necessary,
and your feet ache
from the endless chase.

Your knees complain
that you haven’t run like
this in fifteen years,
and your chest is tight
with the running
and the running
and the feeling
that is not running
but tightens your
chest anyways.
You move as fast
as dignity and gravity
allow, so you will never
catch her laughter.

The freewheeling hopes
you’ve spun
in your mind’s eye
and the tire-screeching fears
that squeal in your gut
collide somewhere
near your throat as –
for the first time
in her life –

she turns the corner
on two wheels, looks
over her shoulder
with a grin as wide
as an eight lane highway,
and disappears
into her future.