Troubled Tuesday

I drank too much wine last night. And I cried. I promised myself I wouldn't cry, but it didn't work out that way.

I had a mediocre day at work, nothing noteworthy. I got a walk in, it was a pretty day so I had the windows open, I got my work done and left. As I was leaving work I thought "Gosh it would be nice to just sit outside and enjoy the mild temperature and sunshine."

So, I get home, check the mailbox for the Brokeback Mountain movie that still hasn't arrived, and carry my stuff inside the house. I grabbed my hands-free apparatus for my cell phone, grabbed the phone and my knitting tote, and headed into the garage to get a lawn chair to sit outside in.

I turned on the garage light and saw it....and my heart stopped.

About two years ago Joe (my son) started making noises about wanting a motorcycle. While concerned and dead set against it, and saying so, I didn't think this would come to fruition. Over the course of the past two years, he's talked a lot about it, that his friend, Marco, had one he was selling, and how he wanted to buy it. I kept poo-pooing the whole thing, telling him that motorcycles scare the hell out of me. I mean, he wanted the Blazer because it was big, and he wanted a lot of vehicle around him because of the asshole way a lot of people drive around here. So, he wants a big car to drive, but wants a motorcyle with nothing around him to protect him? Over the past two years (probably being in denial) I figured he knew how I felt about it, and that he'd pretty much given up on the idea.

And then I find this....this....this....monstrosity in my garage yesterday! This isn't a motorcyle, it's a CROTCH ROCKET! These bikes are designed for only two specific purposes: speed and giving mothers heart failure. Have you ever seen one of these things on a highway doing less than 90? Have you ever seen one on the highway where the rider's hair wasn't on fire? This isn't like Ralphie wanting a BB Gun, he won't just shoot his eye out, he'll KILL himself on this frickin' thing!

He assures me -- promises me -- that he's going to take the local community college's Motorcycle Safety Course to learn to ride and get licensed. He promised Lisa that he would wear chaps (that came with the bike) and assured us both that he has researched all that he needs to know about the bike and the required safety gear. He assured us that he isn't all that keen on the idea of taking a passenger on it anytime soon, since he'll be inexperienced himself.

I told him that, because he's 22, it's not up to me to tell him he can't have this. All I can do is tell him that I hate it and that it scares the hell out of me. I then told him that, if he was determined to go through with this, he'd be responsible for ensuring that my wine supply is kept up, and for a new bottle of hair color every 8 weeks or so. I felt 3,000 new gray hairs pop out last night when I first saw the thing.

Parenthood is a constant process of letting go, but DAMN, this isn't about an inability to let go, it's about an inability to feel good about what this kid is doing.

His girlfriend's father, after Joe told him about the motorcycle, told his daughter that there was no way she'd be getting on the back of that thing.

Looks like I won't be going off the Prozac anytime soon, like we had planned.