(Earlier this week our daughter, Christa, graduated from high school so it seems appropriate to add this column to my blog on Father's Day, Sunday, June 16, 2013)
By Deborah Parkhill Mullis
For Father's Day this year, I'd like to thank my husband, Phillip, for being such a competent kangaroo,
It's a long story ... it all started last summer in the midst of a horrible heat wave.
After a minimum of blood, an excess of sweat and a fair amount of tears, our 6-year-old son, Justin, took to the streets without training wheels. He was followed by his father on an old 10-speed.
Pedaling through the neighborhood with Justin led to Phillip's renewed interest in cycling - not to mention his increased boredom with our home's immediate surroundings.
Soon the old 10-speed was history and a used a mountain bike became the means to a more stimulating lifestyle. I watched what was once simple playtime for Justin turn into a passionate pastime for his father.
A voguish helmet upon his head, Phillip began forging paths through Union County bush.
Autumn arrived. Expensive bicycle trades ensued. Christmas came. Santa placed assorted biking paraphernalia beneath our tree. New Year's Day dawned. Instead of confetti, mountain biking magazines and brochures littered our living room.
But February put a kink in Phillip's chain of mountain biking events as our daughter, Christa, was born. An attentive daddy, weeks of mountain biking deprivation got the best of him.
One night, in vivid detail, Phillip dreamed he rode his mountain bike all the way to Australia.
"I remember thinking I'd like to get a job there because it was real pretty but when I got there you were there." He cut his eyes at me accusingly.
Apparently, I'd had the nerve to appear in his dream and tell him he shouldn't be riding his mountain bike in Australia.
I'd told him he should be hopping like a kangaroo instead. According to Phillip, I'd said kangaroo hopping was "more efficient".
"Put your feet together, stand up on your toes, put your hands behind your back and hop," I'd said, demonstrating.
Hopping kangaroo-style across Australia had its merits, Phillip confessed. However, when hopping home he "was worried about people in the United States thinking he was crazy."
Another part of his dream included passing through a cabbage patch. "It had itty-bitty cabbages in it on the way over ... on the way back they were much bigger," he recalled.
It was no secret that Phillip missed riding his mountain bike since Christa's arrival - with two jobs and two children, we both need our own space. (The fact that he felt the need to distance himself as far as the land "down under" did surprise me.) Still, the meaning here was clear.
It was the kangaroo act that was puzzling both of us until I shared his vision with co-worker who has an interest in dreams. She suggested the kangaroo could represent a new parent because of the way kangaroos carry their young in a pouch.
Suddenly it all made sense! Phillip hasn't been mountain biking lately because he's been too busy "hopping like a kangaroo" or being a new parent - like me.
The reporter also said growing cabbages could stand for growing children - like Cabbage Patch children. Of course!
Enlightened now, I'd like to thank my husband for realizing how fast children grow and for not listening to the small voice inside his head saying it was crazy to spend time with a baby when he could be mountain biking.
Happy Father's Day, dear. Our little cabbages couldn't have a better kangaroo for a Dad.
(Deborah's essay was originally published on Father's Day, Sunday, June 19, 1994 in the Enquirer-Journal of Monroe, NC)
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