Just a little bit of rain

Just a little bit of rain

It is sheer parental pleasure to combine a full-blown holiday trip with one’s parental
aspirations.There is hardly a white lie to cling to when a father after a lengthy year of
work is finally the master of his time.Now I was no longer able to dodge my little
darling ,as it certainly takes a positive father figure to help shape a perfect man.
Only three bare weeks could my son Alex grab his elusive Daddy,which understably
enough lead to his clutching me permanently.Having a long-standing history as a
hard-working beach worker - a whole range of books was at my disposal - I found it
particularly difficult to defy the luring pressure of my loving family.For over a week
had I already been able to put off a cycle tour to the south of the island,but now Alex
was extremely active in winning me over to his side.It was the following Monday that
made things somewhat different.
Once again I felt the irresistible urge to walk to my prepared shelter on the beach,where a pile of books would stop me from giving in to the pleasant life of a sunny and carefree day.I voiced my desire in modesty while we were having breakfast;of course,Alex put up instant resistance to my envisaged pasttime.
One can hardly imagine how resourcefully a fourteen-year-old pulls all the subtle stops of skilful countermeasures within minutes.All of a sudden Alex got monosyllabic;he seemed to have completely lost his appetite and he was on the very brink of rolling a flood of martial tears over his blushed cheeks.He kept moaning and rolling his eyes and complained about a heavy headache.A few moments later he dropped his milk jug,as he could not control his movements properly the mug crashed into the window-pane.When I was about to take him to task,I thought better of it and did not say anything.Alex was looking at me in disbelief,his eyes widening in surprise.He put his hand on my shoulder to calm me down,then he started cuddling me as if I were his teddy bear.This loving gesture led to my being disarmed wholly and reminded me of my countless promises I regularly failed to keep.I had to say yes to an island tour the very next day.He was scanning me benevolently and I was quite astonished to see that he did not doubt his Dad had said the truth.
When day broke it was suddenly and painfully clear to me that yesterday’s agreement
had been reached without the advice of the weathermen.We lifted up our heads to the
sky only to stare into the pitch-black face of an enormous rack that seemed to send
down to us a most malicious grin.But we were definitely agreed that the weather was
fine.Soon after breakfast in no time at all some heavy raindrops gave way to a merci-
less cloudburst hammering down its heavy load onto countless puddles.
Alex acted as an experienced forecaster whose eagle-eyed observation power penetrated each and every corner of the sky.Half an hour later the rain had subsided to a mere drizzle.At once we were on our way to hire two trusty bikes to brave the now picking up breeze.After a fairly longish walk we were actually given two rusty boneshakers.When we were riding through town,even the tiniest cloudless patches above bore witness to the oncoming wet events.We pretended to ignore the heavy drops and pedalled our bikes along the grassy plain with might and main to reach the still faraway tip of the island.The ten miles‘ trip,however,did not form an actual threat in my mind,as my son Alex told me time and again that he felt a great affection for me.
After we had left Rantum behind us,we took a rest and settled down on a bench by the
mud-flats to enjoy a yoghurt tête à tête,when Saint Peter frightened us out of our wits.
In no time at all he had ordered a few legions of rain servants to do their utmost.As a further measure he asked the masters of the four winds to conjure up the most abominable storm to stop us from riding on through a grey and uniform downpour.
Quite exhausted we took a pretty dripping shelter behind a small transformer station.
Alex was neither sad nor disgruntled.He kept smiling,telling me enthusiastically that
it was pure pleasure for him to have his Dad all to himself;he did not take any notice
of this ghastly wilderness.Though it would have been far wiser to ride back to town,
I consented to my son’s imploring looks.Still today I can hear my son howling for
joy.
The last two miles on the way to dryness proved to be pure torment.Whenever,
however,I turned round to Alex,I could see a very happy boy.Finally our wet ride ended at the community house in Hörnum.Having to endure the grimmest hardships together with one’s beloved son is one of most heartwarming experiences one can
imagine!Our ensuing meal saw us in fairly light outfit - barefoot and just vests on our trunks -and everybody present discretely overlooked our watery appearance.Alex was in such high spirits that the cloudbanks opened a medium-sized chink to let through some shy sunbeams.Time enough for a short trip around the little town and its adjacent harbour.
The ride back was more or less the same.Wind and rain made our bikes hard to handle.But there were no complaints on the side of my Alex.On this very day I was lastingly put in the know what an ideal father-son relationship could be like.