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Now, How About a Bike Ride?

Now, How About a Bike Ride?

Last updated on: August 30, 2026 at 8:43 pm by Mark Williams

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Now, How About a Bike Ride? 2026-08-30T20:43:45-07:00 Mark Williams

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Going for ride with Dad/williams

I STOLE SOMETHING….

I stole something years ago and have a version of it hanging in my kitchen. At least I think it constitutes stealing. Let me run it by you and see what you think.

I was in one of those home decorating stores, one of the cool ones with things made of tin, kites hanging from the ceiling, and pretend roosters and clocks the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. On one of those pretend walls made out of wire so you can hang stuff on, was a gallery framed picture of some words which looked like they were typed on a typewriter-an old typewriter. I stood there and read them.

I think it was about the time I was in mid-stride of being a father to my three kids, multiple jobs to hold the wolves at bay, sleep was an extra frivolous thing that rich people with carpeting in their livingroom’s have. Not me. Somehow, I found myself, and maybe my wife, wandering the mall and straggled into this one. Somehow, if memory serves me, I got a picture of it. I don’t think I had a camera phone in the eighties, so that moves the timeline up to the camera phone era. Anyway, somehow, I got it copied. The thing I liked about it was the typed look, but also every “I” pronoun was lowercase. I am sure it was the author’s intent and style, especially when you read it and find out who the credit is given to.

…this morning….

It’s been hanging where it is for years. Today, this morning, I walked by it and read it again. I haven’t read it in, well, a long time. It’s almost like a prayer, but also, I think, a yardstick. This life we are in, daily, is hard. It’s been hard since The Apple. We struggle to make ends meet. We struggle with self-indulgence, self-pity, envy, being too fat, being too skinny, does she like me? does he like me? Where are we going to do this weekend? What weekend? I have to work again.

…I think I’m allowed….

To me, it’s an ongoing wish. If you don’t know me and somehow stumbled onto my Facebook page, or even here, you might have realized I call God ‘Dad.‘ That’s what I called my living dad and still do when we reference him. My kids call me Dad. Not ‘father,’ not ‘Pops,’ not ‘hey you.’ Dad. That’s just how we grew up. Dad. If you have followed me, you may notice I get a little hard on dads. I’m allowed since I am one; maybe a major problem with the world starts and ends with fathers failing to be, well, fathers.

I remember teaching my kids how to ride a two-wheel bike. I would run next to them with my hand on the collar of whatever shirt they were wearing, ready to pull them off like an ejection seat if- or I should say, when they fell. That’s the Dad in this, well, I guess, prayer.

Every day….

Every day is a new day. One more closer to the end of our seasons of life. I pass this on to you, both fathers and mothers, or singles or lonely, or handicapped, or dealing with all the things this world can crap on us. I give this to you because there is a Dad who knows you, your situation, your turmoil, your pain. There is a Dad who has and will again, make you laugh with tears rolling down your face, bring you happiness when you least expect it, a song on the radio, a friend’s unexpected phone call, a good dinner, sleep!

There is a Dad who will be with you when everyone else is gone. He will get you through whatever it is you are in and after a while, when the two of you look back on it, you will whisper to Him in that memory, “that was supposed to be real bad, and it was, but not now. Now is, well, okay.’

Now, how about a bike ride?

When all is said and done, I hope my life was one well lived. That I can look back wholeheartedly with no regrets, only good memories from lessons taught to me by my loving Dad along the way.

I hope I was brave and free to be myself, even if I was unsure what that looked like at times and somewhere amongst the years, I found my purpose and was wise enough to give it away.

I hope my presence here on earth made someone smile, even if only for a moment. I hope I chose goy, every day. I loved others even when they did not deserve it because that’s what my Dad would want me to do.

I found the simple blessings each day brings and laughed so hard tears ran down my face. I hope that I treated myself with the same compassion as I’ve shown others. I hope I made the most of this one life I was given.

I hope, above all other hopes, more than anything else, that you know how much I love you.

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About Mark Williams

Mark Williams spent the first twenty-one years of his career as a Special Agent for the Organized Crime Division of the State Attorney General’s Office. As part of his duties, he investigated organized crime, homicides, and fraud cases submitted by other agencies to that office. He has traveled across the United States as an instructor for law enforcement in various capacities. After he retired, he became a high school English teacher at an inner-city school in central Phoenix where he is the fourth generation in his family to live in the valley. Mark was married for almost thirty-eight years and is a retired widower. He has three children and ten grandchildren. You can read more about the author here.

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