During the fall of his senior year in high school, my 18-year-old son approaches me with an idea. I’m sitting on our back deck, enjoying the mild afternoon with a book. Normally he comes to me only to ask about dinner. This time, he has a pitch. “Remember when you and Dad said we couldn’t fit another car in the driveway?”“If I got a motorcycle, it would solve both problems.”
“How do you even know you’ll like riding a motorcycle?” This is the kid who quit touch football out of fear of impact, who doesn’t snowboard in icy conditions.When I tell my husband, he responds with a “Hmmm.” He’s someone who resists stressing about his young adult children. He offers to take a motorcycle safety course as a first step. We agree to pay for it. Anything to give him more practice and buy some time. He wants to get a bike in December when the prices are low. If he waits, we tell him we’ll give him money as a graduation gift.Advertisement
The more specific his vision gets, the less comfortable I feel. My husband doesn’t love the idea, but he sees that our son is serious. I ask my husband, “Is it too late for me to change my mind about this?”The night before our son plans to visit a dealer to start negotiations for the bike he wants, I become frantic, convinced this is a terrible mistake. I pull my son aside. “You’re not going to be happy with me,” I tell him. “I’m not ready for this. We’re going to have to wait.