“You have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge, in the image of its creator.” Letter of St. Paul to the Colossians 3:9-10
Today’s walk was the most challenging yet — 15 miles mostly away from the coastal area with lots of steep hills and some rocky terrain reminiscent of my Camino Frances pilgrimage in September 2021. Two additional memories surfaced for me today when I was 5 years old.
One morning as I waited for Mom to take me for my afternoon kindergarten session I decided to climb up on the kitchen cabinets. I loved to climb as a kid and always had to touch things — maybe Redding gets that from his Papa Bear? Anyway, as I climbed onto the counter to reach for a cereal bowl in one of the cabinets, I slipped and my left pinky fell squarely on a glass that was lying in the kitchen sink. Luckily, Mom was right there in the kitchen and quickly wrapped my pinky in a tourniquet to stop the bleeding because the cut was so deep she thought I might lose the finger.
Even though I was only 5 years old, I can still vividly recall sitting in the front seat next to her as we raced the ‘51 Chevy to Valley Hospital. Little did I know that this would be the first of many trips Mom would make for stitches — my own as well as for Matty and Mary Claire. As I walked through the terrain today, I could still see Mom driving with one hand on the steering wheel (BTW there was no such thing as power steering back then) with her other hand holding me and my pinky finger. I needed 6 stitches to close up the would and my only salvation was that I didn’t have to go to school that afternoon. Once again, I think about how hard that must have been for Mom because she was pregnant with Matty and it’s just another of many examples of how she always seemed to know what to do in these difficult situations. Later on when she had moved to the Allendale Nursing Home, we would laugh together at all the times she would take us to Valley for stitches.
The other memory that popped up for me today took place later that summer and how at the age of 5, Dad taught me how to ride a bike for the first time. Dad was always such a good, natural teacher. I had to use Dennis’s red bike that Mom and Dad had bought from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue several Christmases earlier and of course, Dad and I had some earlier attempts that had failed. But this one summer Sunday afternoon in 1960, Dad said let’s try again.
As I walked the Camino today, I could still see Dad running next to me holding onto the bike as I pedaled faster and faster. There were lots of kids and their families hanging out on Newcomb Road that day, the street I grew up on. I can still see Dad smiling mightily as he let go of the bike and I held on without falling. What a moment. I remembered how when I turned around to come back toward our house, there was my Dad with that huge smile. His son had made it and it’s a moment that I’ll treasure forever.
Thanks Mom and Dad
