Why I'll Never Be in a Harley Gang

Yesterday was a quintessential man day for me.

Woke up and was working on the yard before 9am. Fired up the Craftsman edger and weed-whacker and manicured the lawn shirt-off in the 100 degree heat. Monkies in the pool by 1100. Cleaned the garage. Cut wood to build some bookshelves. Built a stool for the kids. Half a case of Bud and Boston cranking on the garage stereo. No shopping, no errands, no nothing.

All in all an awesome day.

I usually fire up the Harley on Sunday nights just to make sure it's good to go for work the next day. Plus screaming eagle pipes sound great in the garage. The monkies usually come out and watch me rev the engine and fill the driveway with exhaust. Cowboy doesn't love loud noise so he usually covers his ears--I convinced him last night not to. After witnessing his bravery, I decided it was time for my five-year-old to take a giant step towards manhood.

I picked him up and put him in front of me on the tank, with his legs safely balanced on non-hot parts of the body. He had to stretch, but I put his hands on the handlegrips. He's seen me rev the engine a million times, so he knows the drill. He nervously turned the throttle a little at first, but in a few minutes I had him gunning the engine and waking up the neighborhood.

Princess was next, but since her legs are too long she couldn't sit on the front. So, also taking a giant step toward her adulthood, I put her on the back and she held on like we were going down the highway. I might take her for a spin around the neighborhood soon.

By now SW and the mother-in-law, Odie with them, had joined us for the show. I sensed a photo opportunity and plopped the baby on the tank between my legs. It was funny how he'd jump when I revved the engine. We took some pretty awesome pictures that I'll post on here.

Towards the end I had him sitting up and I was trying to postition him so that we could take a hand-shot with his fingers on the handlegrip when he hiccuped. As Princess let out an "ewww" I knew what had happened.

I looked over the side of the engine to see a huge mouthful of regurgitated formula now sizzling on the chrome finish of my prized machine. Photo shoot was over. Someone who worshipped Harley's would have had tears in his eyes but I just let it burn there. Hopefully it'll come off when I wash it but if it doesn't, oh well.

It'll be a Daddy battle-scar.

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