WE were at a mid Autumn Sunday flea market in the small German town of Baunatal, Kassel, when we spotted the red and blue coloured bicycle. It was being displayed for sale by a woman in her early thirties and her daughter. It was one of those short version bikes, clearly a children’s model, and it reminded me of one of those short stock horses that would never grow to the size of a normal horse.

Six year-old Alwyn and I had already walked past the lady, her daughter and the bicycle, but we walked back to take a closer look. The woman noticed our interest, smiled at us, and pointed to a paper sign that said, “nur Dm30″ (only 30 Deutschmark). The bike was not new to be sure, but it was not that old either. It still had the shine in its metallic red and blue body. The thing about it that attracted me was that it could be detached into two parts and folded up for ease of transportation. I looked at Alwyn with a smile and he looked back with childlike glee. I bought it.

So that was Step One. Step Two was to teach him how to ride the bike, and Lesson One took place that very afternoon. With the setting sun casting long shadows at the neighbourhood playground, we chose a spot where there was a slight slope with lots of grass (for cushioning purposes). Putting him on the bike for the very first time, I told him I would give him a gentle push down the slope for him to learn how to balance himself on the bike. Forget about doing any peddling, I said.

The first push resulted in the bike going 6 feet before toppling over. We both laughed. I asked if he were alright, he said yes, and we tried again. The second push was no better, and he wobbled 6 or 7 feet before toppling again. We went on and on, and by the twentieth push, with his face and clothes covered with patches of earth and blades of grass, he could go 20 feet. I thought that was enough for Lesson One, and we withdrew to our apartment for hot Chinese tea and a cleaning up. I noticed he carefully tucked away the bicycle himself.

Within two weeks, he could cycle fairly well on his own and needed more space to practice. We took him to the neighbourhood family park (Kassel had many family parks of such a nature, all of which had bicycle lanes) and he happily cycled round and round, coming back to us only for drinks and face wipes.

A month or two later, when winter ushered in the very first snowfall in our neighbourhood and covered the field outside our apartment with a snow-white coat of freshly fallen snow, father and son decided to build their first snowman. Wrapped up with at least three layers of clothing and a reliable pair of snow-proof mittens and boots each, we started gathering snow and piling it to form the typical ‘belly’ of the snowman. Somehow, no matter how we tried to shape it, the belly just would not take on its intended circular shape. It was worse when we tried to do the ‘head.’ Instead of a nice typical ball-like head, our snowman started taking the form of a dog shaped head! An hour later, father and son had grown exhausted from building what turned out to be a snowman with a dog shaped head. I still have a photograph of that first snow masterpiece of ours. Before getting back to the house, however, there was still something that must be done, that was, to have a snowball fight! Never mind the kid’s, that was also my very first fling of a snowball.

Those two events — learning how to ride a bicycle and building a snowman together — were superb bonding activities for father and child. It was something etched into the hard disks of our memories and not to be forgotten; the shrieks of delight on being hit by a snowball, the tired look of happiness, the laughs, the pure joy of the child as he ‘played’ with his new found toys (the bicycle and the snowman), and the complete freedom with which the father spent time with his son (no telephone calls and no office appointment for the whole day).

Today, Alwyn has a 4-year-old son of his own. That little kid is not quite ready for his first bicycle lesson yet. Besides, with most city apartments locked in on every side by highways and speeding vehicles these days, not many parents are eager to teach their kids how to ride a bike. Also, unless the family spends a bundle for a vacation in Switzerland, he will probably not have the opportunity to try his hand at making his first snowman anytime soon. Nor throw his first snowball.

However, that is not to say Alwyn does not have his bonding moments with his little kid. For sure, he takes the kid bowling and at the bowling alley, the little 4-year old literally jumps up and down with sheer delight. Also, they go swimming as a family and once in the water with his kiddie swimming trunk and colourful body float, he simply had to be dragged out of the pool again. Besides that, father and son do colouring together at home, and I notice the kid now likes to draw three figures and he tells me those are ‘daddy, mummy and boy-boy.’ Also, Alwyn is a book person, and I am sure he reads to his kid and I don’t mean just ‘A for Apple, B for Ball, C for Cat.’

My own father never got to build a snowman with his children a generation ago but he did have quality time with us in his own way. I remember how he tied a string between two poles outside our house and taught us to play badminton. He put together a rectangular shaped table and played table tennis with us, even organising ‘competitions’ to promote healthy sibling rivalry. When he could afford to own a small Morris Minor (I still remember the number plate: AA 5445), he took the family out for rides on Friday evenings, that we called ‘family nights.’

Events such as those are precisely what make Father’s Days so meaningful. Time and place may change the nature of such bonding events (with soaring petrol prices, it is hard to see families going for evening drives regularly), but the need and value of such events will never change. It really does not matter whether the head of your snowman takes the shape of a dog, or whether it takes 20 pushes to teach your kid how to ride a bicycle; what matters is that fathers continue to spend bonding time with their kids. Father’s Days are made out of these.

A very happy Father’s Day to all fathers.

(Note: That bicycle that we bought in Germany for DM30 had a rather sad ending. After my assignment in Germany, we moved back to our house in Petaling Jaya. Within a month, someone stole the bicycle from our garden.)