Father and Daughter Lessons

I don’t remember who taught me to ride a bike. Training wheels were removed, someone held the back of the seat and ran as I pumped the pedals and wobbled ahead trying to keep my balance on that blue bike. I don’t think it was Dad because I don’t recall seeing him run. I do remember him seated in his TV chair, at his desk, at the head of the dinner table, behind the steering wheel of the Chevy. He did teach me the names of the Philadelphia Phillies, how to fill out a box score, how to slice a tomato with perfection, how to scrambled eggs, how to curve a bowling ball, how to collect stamps and coins, appreciation for art, music, and antiques. I will forever remember his kind voice, warm hugs, time spent by his side absorbing his enthusiasm.