I was on a bike ride the other day, headed north on PA route 26 between Donation and Center Union. As I’m pedaling, I felt the familiar sensation of something in my eye.
When you’re cruising along at about 16 mph (which is a fairly good pace for a 40-year-old on a road bike, if I do say so myself), you’re bound to get the occasional bug in your eye. Believe me when I tell you that it sucks. You can’t take your hands off of the bike for fear of wrecking, and trying to stop in the middle of the ride without a safe place to pull over is not recommended.
So, my right eye is freaking out, and starting to produce tears. I was hoping that I could flush out whatever foreign object had gotten in my eye. I’m sure I looked like a deranged pirate rolling down the road; one eye open, the other closed tightly (YARR!). I started frantically opening the eye, then squeezing it shut in an attempt to get whatever critter had come across my path out of my eye.
After about five minutes of this ordeal, I could see that nothing seemed to be working. Whatever was in my eye was not shaking loose. That’s when, in my peripheral vision, I noticed the long-ass eyebrow that had made its way down from my brow and gotten tangled in my eyelash – and in turn was poking me in the eye.
Me after the ride (note the bright white hair in my right eyebrow):
When on the bike and the wind was in my face, that lil’ white sucker pushed downward and wreaked some havoc.
I tell you this story for two reasons:
…and it really doesn’t do it justice. Suffice it to say that sometimes things got wild. Every once in a while, dad’s brows curled upwards at the ends and it made it look like he had horns. That used to CRACK ME UP.
Once I figured out that it was a stray eyebrow hair that was poking my eye, it made me smile. Now when I look in the mirror and see a crazy eyebrow, I’ll think of my dad. When said crazy eyebrow pokes me in the eye, I’ll straighten up a bit knowing that my dad is trying to tell me something. “Turn left here”, or “What the heck are you doing?” Perhaps he’s simply trying to get me to slow down and enjoy the ride.
Three years ago today I lost my dad to a motorcycle accident. Not a day goes by – not a day – that I don’t think of him. My brother and sister-in-law just had their fist baby, and it makes me crazy that their son Liam will never get to meet their Popeye (what my kids called him) with the wild eyebrows.
Liam will never get to see the Popeyebrow.
(see what I did there?)
Wherever dad is, I know that he’s smiling. He’s watching all of us go about our lives, and I’m sure that he’s enjoying the show.
I hope you know that we miss you a ton, Pop. Every day.
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When you’re cruising along at about 16 mph (which is a fairly good pace for a 40-year-old on a road bike, if I do say so myself), you’re bound to get the occasional bug in your eye. Believe me when I tell you that it sucks. You can’t take your hands off of the bike for fear of wrecking, and trying to stop in the middle of the ride without a safe place to pull over is not recommended.
So, my right eye is freaking out, and starting to produce tears. I was hoping that I could flush out whatever foreign object had gotten in my eye. I’m sure I looked like a deranged pirate rolling down the road; one eye open, the other closed tightly (YARR!). I started frantically opening the eye, then squeezing it shut in an attempt to get whatever critter had come across my path out of my eye.
After about five minutes of this ordeal, I could see that nothing seemed to be working. Whatever was in my eye was not shaking loose. That’s when, in my peripheral vision, I noticed the long-ass eyebrow that had made its way down from my brow and gotten tangled in my eyelash – and in turn was poking me in the eye.
Me after the ride (note the bright white hair in my right eyebrow):
When on the bike and the wind was in my face, that lil’ white sucker pushed downward and wreaked some havoc.
I tell you this story for two reasons:
- It’s funny. I got a good hearty chuckle out of it when I realized what was happening.
- My dad was poking me in the eye. A stretch, I know. But hear me out...
…and it really doesn’t do it justice. Suffice it to say that sometimes things got wild. Every once in a while, dad’s brows curled upwards at the ends and it made it look like he had horns. That used to CRACK ME UP.
Once I figured out that it was a stray eyebrow hair that was poking my eye, it made me smile. Now when I look in the mirror and see a crazy eyebrow, I’ll think of my dad. When said crazy eyebrow pokes me in the eye, I’ll straighten up a bit knowing that my dad is trying to tell me something. “Turn left here”, or “What the heck are you doing?” Perhaps he’s simply trying to get me to slow down and enjoy the ride.
Three years ago today I lost my dad to a motorcycle accident. Not a day goes by – not a day – that I don’t think of him. My brother and sister-in-law just had their fist baby, and it makes me crazy that their son Liam will never get to meet their Popeye (what my kids called him) with the wild eyebrows.
Liam will never get to see the Popeyebrow.
(see what I did there?)
Wherever dad is, I know that he’s smiling. He’s watching all of us go about our lives, and I’m sure that he’s enjoying the show.
I hope you know that we miss you a ton, Pop. Every day.
