Translated…
I was, a little girl who grew up, on my father’s mo-ped.
Back then, dad would lift both his arms, and, carry me onto the gas lid on the front of his motorcycle. That, was, my throne, I’d kept, staying there, chased the wind with my dad for many, many years, until no matter how low I’d ducked, I’d obstructed his views, then, I was lifted off.
Two days ago, I saw a motorist by the red-bricked sidewalk, checking the safety belt that harnessed his child so very, carefully. He’d made sure again and again, he’d become, so very, detail-oriented, because of love.
from the papers…
I’d wanted to tell that young girl sitting on the back, grow up well, behind your dad, do remember, the backside that looked like the mountains that shouldered you from all the rains and storms that are coming for you. This sort of a trying kind of love of a father, having it for an extra day, it’s being blessed, for an extra day!
So, for this person, seeing this scene of a father, strapping his own daughter into the seat of the motorcycle reminded of how much tender, love and care her own father treated her, lifting her to the front of his motorcycle, as he rode out with her, that, would be a great memory of the childhood years…
Life, the Obstacle Course 