Cycling #3
As mentioned before, it’s appropriate that we parents turn loose of the back of the bicycle — even knowing that our children may tip over and scrape a knee. It’s a metaphor for the parenting task. We can’t hold on forever.
But there was one of our children who didn’t “grow up,” at least not in some ways. Megan was never going to learn to ride a bike. So we bought an adult stroller.
Long before I’d ever heard of Dick Hoyt, Megan was my frequent companion as I trained for marathons. She loved the feel of the wind and the up-close view of the outdoors. As I ran and pushed, she clapped her hands, sang little bits of her favorite songs, and would occasionally yell, “Hey, I’m Megan!”
I didn’t know how much I missed those running experiences together until ten or eleven years after her death. On the Sunday that Highland is full of parents dropping off children at college, I took the stroller (which remains in an honored place in the garage) as a prop to talk about the challenge of letting go.
But in both services, the moment — the MOMENT! — I touched the stroller, I melted down. Through the years, I had some emotional moments while preaching. But never like this. The memories were just too strong.
We hang onto those early bicycles, remembering the joy of watching our boys launch out on their own. But we also cherish the adult stroller, remembering one who liked the wind in her face, a song on the journey, and her father close by.
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Now, I wait for this bicycle rider to arrive for Christmas (along with her little sister).
I remember seeing that stroller on stage with you at Highland. There are no words.
I also love the wind in my face, a song on the journey and my father (and other loved ones) close by.
I had the wonderful experience of living and running road races in the Boston area in the late 70′s / early 80′s.
As you might expect Dick Hoyt and his son were a consistent part of those races. They became something of a legend.
My favorite memory was a July 4th 10K race. I was at the top of my game and took off at a personal record pace. At 3 miles I tanked and finished the race dragging myself. But the moment came around mile 5 as I was hoping for death and just trying to survive that the Hoyts passed like a freight train. I dropped my head and smiled knowing that better men were passing.
They quickly became the stuff of lore and we would see them at any event from the local club run to the Boston Marathon.
More than anything I believe their message revolves around a personal commitment to a person to the exclusion of other things.