My father didn’t have any boys, instead he had four daughters. That didn’t stop my father from getting us involved in “boy” activities like catching frogs, crawdads, or snakes. It also didn’t stop him from having us “catch” his punts down the football field, learning to camp, or aide him in his carpentry work. All of that was a nice compliment to my mothers effort to also “domesticate” us.
My father had BIG dreams of playing professional football. He frequently attended semi-pro football camps as a punter. He also trained for these events by running on the Loveland Bike Trail. My father graciously picked me to go with him running, and always at night. At the time, I was maybe five years old. My five year old hand pressed into his, unless we passed a telephone pole where we would quickly let go and scream “bread n’ butter” and would grab hands again. We did this on the walk to the bike trail. The bike trail was a five minutes from our home in downtown Loveland, Ohio. I was his running partner. The oldest of four daughters, and old enough to run.
We always started off with some good stretches and he would lecture me about the importance of pushing ourselves when we seen the finish line. The trail, at that time, went from Loveland all the way to Kings Mills, but we never ran that far. It was dark on the trail and did not have many lights except for the lightening bugs the lit up the forrest that lined the trail. The trail ran along side the Little Miami River and curved around. In the night you could hear the frogs bellow and the crickets sing. His six foot four stature gave him a long stride even for a slow jog. My little legs had a hard time keeping up, but he would wait on me.
When we would see our stopping point he would look at me and give me a nod. This was his sign to me that it was time to give 150%. His legs took off and I was quickly left behind. I was petrified of being left behind to his shadow. I pushed and pushed myself to keep up with him, but he eventually, and always, journeyed far ahead of me. “Don’t stop,” he would yell back to me, while my heart pumped loudly and my feed pounded the pavement. When I finally made it, he would be pacing back and forth, breathing heavily and give me a high five. “You have to push yourself, Jessica. You will never get any better if you don’t go outside of your comfort zone.” I’ve held onto those words and try to live by them everyday. It is hard to push yourself out of your comfort zone, but that is what truly stimulates growth.
Comfort is easy to sit in. It feels good, but becoming stagnant stifles growth. There are days when I don’t want to give anything. Those days, I try to remember, that little 5 year old running in the shadows towards her dad. I am waiting on the high five, Dad. Till we meet again.
With Love,
Jessica Bowman
Author, Illustrator, and Owner of Little Wildflower Books
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