I genuinely wish Phil was my father. When I fell off my bike Phil would be close behind to pick me up brush the dirt off of knees and arms. He would squat real low beside me, reach into his back pocket to find a pristine handkerchief. He folds it into a loose ball to dab at my cheeks and dry my tears. I lift my eyes and see his concerned expression, and once he sees I am free from injury his countenance shifts to a toothy dimpled grin. "Son, what do we when we fall down?" He asks. I quickly swallow my embarrassment and pain to reply, "We get back up." He runs his hands quickly through my hair and smiles bigger, "That's right my boy and don't forget it! Go on now. Ride!" I pedal fast and confidently cause I know dad is watching and I know that I am secure in his gaze. Phil is watching.