Old Blue

By Renae Brumbaugh

The kids and I spent a week this summer in Mayberry, RFD a small, shore town in New Jersey. It’s a place where families relax on the beach. Where kids bicycle downtown for an ice cream cone. Where porches are actually used and everyone knows their neighbors. It’s a beautiful place. One of my oldest, dearest friends has a home there, and she and her husband are gracious enough to let us take over their space for a week every year or two. I get some shore time, the kids gather seashells, boogie board and surf, and we make some amazing memories. But this year, we made some unexpected memories. First, the boy child discovered Old Blue. Philip and Amy have five bicycles in their garage. A couple of them are pretty fancy, with lots of gears and speeds. Two of them have baskets on the front, which make them great for shopping. And then there’s Old Blue. Old Blue is a 1960’s-era, rusty blue bike. It’s a girl’s bike. It has little to offer in the way of style or speed. But when you need a fifth set of wheels, it will effectively carry a passenger from one place to another. But when FJ rode Old Blue, it transformed from a rusty old jalopy to a smooth, floating-on-air, kissing the clouds kind of ride. In his words: “I love the click-click-click of the spokes. I love the feel of gliding through the wind. I love the perfect mixture of the smooth tire on the road, cutting through the bike lane like silk.” Yeah. He’s the son of a writer. Next, he re-discovered the joy of the dip-cone. As in, the Dairy Queen chocolate-dipped ice cream cone. It happened one night when we decided to go for ice cream. There’s a trendy shop in town called Springer’s, which is apparently the place to go when you visit the shore. And if you go there after dinnertime, expect to wait. And wait and wait. On this particular night, the line was out the door, down the block and around the corner. And we decided, as much as we’d like to visit Springer’s, we could wait for another day. A couple of blocks over was a DQ with only a five-minute wait. And when the boy ordered his dip-cone, he received a lot more than a sweet treat. He learned that dairy products can become works of art. The lady at the counter took her time piling the ice cream in the cone, swirling it just so. Then she dipped it into the chocolate and handed it to FJ while it was still warm. He took that first bite before it hardened, and the expression of bliss on his young face made me wonder if he’d been transported to paradise. “Mom,” he said. “I’ve never tasted such creamy goodness. It’s like a little piece of heaven, sliding down my throat.” Did I mention his mom is a writer? On our trip to New Jersey, the boy surfed. Boogie-boarded. He saw dolphins, up close and personal. He saw an air show. We took a day trip to Philly and saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. But if you ask him what he remembers most about the trip, he’ll tell you. Old Blue and dip-cones. One thing I have to say for my son . . . he knows how to relish any experience. While he wants the next best thing as much as the next guy, he doesn’t need new or shiny or expensive to enjoy life. At the tender age of 13, he has already learned the secret to being content. He appreciates the simple things. He is grateful for even the smallest blessings. He knows happiness is a choice. I’ve always admired him for his ability to live large, and to find delight in any circumstance. He brings joy and life and wonder to any room, and it’s because he’s chosen to be happy. To laugh. To appreciate things like rusty old bikes and dipcones.
“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him,” Colossians 3:17 NIV.