Saturday, January 06, 2007
A pointless trip down memory lane
As we were driving to Ikea this afternoon, we happened to be passed by a motorcyclist. Today, unlike other days, this sight vividly brought up memories of my father's motorcycle. During his brief bachelor period (in between marriages), my dad finally got himself a motorcycle (my mom would never let him have one). It wasn't some cool chopper or a zippy looking crotch rocket, but rather a BMW touring bike that sounded like George Jetson's flying saucer. It really was a perfect fit, as my dad is a big dork. When he would use it to drop my sister off at school, she would always make him stop a block away, because she was too embarrassed. I, unfortunately, was never allowed to ride on it. My mom wouldn't allow it, and my dad, being the good guy that he is, respected the fact that she had 51% custody of me and didn't take me on the bike. He finally let me ride it just before he sold it, so that I wouldn't feel quite so left out. Of course, by that time I was living with him full time, so my mom couldn't really object. I still didn't mention it, though.