Monday, June 23, 2014

the bike ride.

I rode my bike up to Dad's construction job in our neighborhood and it had a way of reminding me of summer days gone by. The kind of days that found my brothers and I perched on our bikes and cruising down the side walk on our way to or from the pool. We'd stop and check out Dad's job if he was nearby, but mom would always tell us not to call out to him if we saw him on the roof. 

And sometimes we'd just want to stop and watch. Because Dad was an artist and could give life to drawings on wide sheets of rolled up paper in a rubber band. Because he knew what it meant to invest blood, sweat, and tears. And because no matter how hard the sun was beating down, he'd keep on pushing through to see the smallest details through…even if he was the only one that would ever notice them. 

This time was no different. As I rolled up the driveway and breathed in that familiar smell of sawdust and listened to the old saw run, I felt for just a moment that I was a little girl again, sitting on a bright pink bicycle with pom-pons on the handlebars. Just watching my Dad work. 

1 comment:

  1. This is beautiful, Sam! I love the photos and can smell the sawdust in the air!