So. Whoda thunk that a ballerina who pirouetted into a yoga practitioner and a football player who stutter-stepped into a mountain biker would ever find enough common ground to stand on so they could get married? But here we are.
Jozie’s mother and sister have a different last name. So when Jozie came along, to even the score, she got mine. When she was little, she was fond of saying “They don’t call us Ewarts for nothing.” The implication, I think, is that we share a special bond. And we do.
I have lots of fond memories of our times together. I was there (a summer off to play Mr. Mom) when she took her first steps. After that, there was no stopping her. When she started school, pretty soon it was the Father-Daughter dinner dances, where “Uppy, Daddy!” (a move where I swung her between my spread legs) became the rule for a few years. I was very grateful when she considered herself old enough to stop requesting that move, because she was getting heavier and my back was getting weaker. Through Tiny Toons and Dawson’s Creek, we enjoyed snuggling on the bed in front of the TV. I must admit I still miss that snuggling.
And now she’s married. Well, marriage seems to me to be most like a Sunday drive. There is no destination, you just get up and go because it’s a nice day and you enjoy the companionship of the one you’re with. So, here are a few words of advice and my wish for your trip.
Mind the rules of the road, and wear your seat belts just in case. Keep your hands on the wheel, your feet on the floor, your eyes on the prize, and your head in the clouds. Beyond that, just sit back and relax. May you have sunny days, smooth pavements, good tunes on the radio, and plenty of fascinating roadside attractions.
To Jozie and Pete: Long may you ride.