Perspective

My brother and I hopped on the spare Mountain bikes in my parents garage. The one I was on was painted red and white, an old but sturdy relic from the 1980's--my mom picked it up for only ten bucks at a garage sale. My brother was on my mom's bike. My parents both have nice mountain bikes, a way to stay young--ride around on titanium until hopefully one day your children procreate, then the mountain bikes become toys for the grandkids years later. If there are no grandkids the bikes can be sold at a G-sale and the circle of life continues.

My dad was filling the tires with air while Andy speculated on why there is a design difference between men's and women's bikes. Women don't wear skirts anymore. If anything the men's bike should be bar-less he says. We sort of agreed as the hiss of the air pump stoped abruptly. Tires filled with air, transportation machines inspected and sufficiently examined philosophically, lets go to Jennings Park!

We started out leisurely cruising, Andy and I asking questions about the neighborhood gossip, Dad filling us in. Didn't take long, the first open stretch of road, before we started racing. I remember: last one to the fence post is a rotten egg.

Part of being in your home community is recognizing your work in that community. And there we were three men pointing out our old jobs. See those down spouts dad? I painted those. And there is the junior high. I painted those walls. Oh I hit a homerun there in little league... Remember. I put in the landscape for that business park.

Andy showed us where he and his friends had etched their name into a steal beam at the middle school. "Andy Cory Pat" all rusted now.

My dad showed us the jobs he's done up in the air on the telephone poles, or on the ground in the cross connect box. How he transferred 1200 pairs from the CO to this new housing development or that new housing development. For the first time, I actually wanted to hear about this stuff. And my dad, a cable splicer, explained how the wires in the air are designed. The power company has the wires highest up. Then the phone company and 12 inches below that is the cable company. I asked how much longer we were going to have wires? Will they be gone with in fifty years? "fifty years? More like four or five," he said. "no my job will be obsolete with in ten years. We're going fiber optic. All underground." Dad just stared up at those wires with pride.

That is satisfaction. That is how successful men see the world. Through their work. The world of telephone poles and wire is pretty much invisible to me. When I walk down the street I don't even notice the wires hanging there, crackling above me. For dad the world is telephone poles and wires. Andy and I agreed his job is pretty cool.

After the lesson in phone wire at the cross connect box, we ended up at the new water front still under construction. We drove our bikes out to the edge of the slew and watched the sun fall behind the I-5 bridge that runs over the marshlands of south Marysville. Yellow light became violet, and all the cement reflected a dusty orange radiance. What a great bike ride with my male kin.

On the side face of the bridge behind us, in the rosy spot light of the setting sun, I noticed a phrase written in black spray paint. "Fuck Life."

The phrase seemed so sad and empty to me that it actually became funny. I see the world as a novel, as manicured lawns, painted school walls, and little league games on clear summer evenings. Dad sees Telephone poles and family: work well done. Andy sees life graphically--lines, typefaces, color.

What does life look like to someone who spray paints the slogan "fuck life" on a bridge down by the slew?