Wheels

Yesterday, I read Deb’s post in which she wrote about trying to learn to ride a motorcycle.  It reminded me of my motorcycle adventures.  I’ve written about it in this post in which I wrote about my dad’s money-making trades.  Here’s the part that I was reminded of: 

My personal favorite of my dad’s deals was a white Honda 90 motorcycle.  I loved it.  It became mine.  I was 15 and there was talk that when I turned 16 I would get my license on the Honda 90.  We lived on a cul-de-sac with very little traffic so I was allowed to drive it up and down the street.  I loved feeling the wind blowing through my long dark hair (even though I was only going about 35 or 40 mph).  Unfortunately, I never got my license on that motorcycle.  I ruined my chances of that one early summer evening, four months shy of turning 16.  I persuaded my sister, Irene (aka The Drama Queen) to go down the street on the motorcycle with me.  There were three boys who lived down the street.  They were all cute.  They were a few years older than us but they always smiled and flirted with us when we went by.  I had seen them in the window when I had driven by earlier so I knew they were there.  When Irene and I go to their house, I turned toward the window where they stood and smiled, tilting my head in a greeting.  When my eyes returned to the road, I realized that the STOP sign was much closser than I had thought.  I hit the brakes so hard that the motorcylce flipped and threw Irene and me  into the air.  Irene claimed not to be able to walk or even get up.  Although my legs and arms were cut and skinned, I picked her up and put her on the curb then I picked up the motorcycle but I couldn’t get it started so I ended up walking it up the hill (and it was a steep hill) to our house.  When I got home, my mom and dad were in the front yard and they asked what happened.  I told them we had flipped over and they asked where Irene was.  I told them she was on the curb because she couldn’t walk up the hill so they both panicked and jumped in my dad’s car to drive down and get her.  I was upset at my parents because they left me bleeding to go get Irene.  And I was more upset at the boys we were trying to impress because they had seen us flip over and knew we were hurt and they didn’t even come to see if we were okay.  The Jerks.  Needless to say, my mother persuaded my father to get rid of the Honda before one of us got killed on it (her words, not mine).  Losing that motorcycle was one of the worst things that had happened to me in my almost 16 years.

Since then, I have wanted to ride a motorcycle again but now, as I grow older, I would be satisfied to be the rider and not the driver!

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Recycled Post–Oh What A Night!

This originally appeared in February of 2008 in response to a weekly meme I used to participate in, 3 Word Wednesday, in which we were given 3 random words and had to write a story with them.  A bit long but I think it’s kind of fun.  The 3 words were t-shirt, unravel, and punch. See what you think…

I walked into the house and without looking at her face, I knew Karen was staring at the Slayer t-shirt I was wearing and wondering what the hell got into me. She knew I would never buy a shirt like that. And the micro mini-skirt I was wearing was totally not like anything I would ever wear. At least not in this century. I could feel her staring at me but I wasn’t going to explain. Karen wouldn’t understand. I made a beeline for my bedroom, pulled out some clothes and walked to the bathroom to shower. I had to get that clothes off of me.

I locked the bathroom door behind me and as I reached for the faucet, I heard Karen on the other side of the door. “Hey Mom. So what’s with the clothes? It’s a little early for Halloween!” I could hear her giggling.

Rolling my eyes, I couldn’t quite decide if I would acknowledge the question, let alone answer her.

“Go away. I’m taking a shower.” On came the water before Karen could even giggle.

I let the white Slayer t-shirt drop to the floor at my feet along with the micro mini skirt, the black bra and panties I had borrowed. I never wore a black bra with a white t-shirt but Sherry had only offered the black one so I had no choice. Well, I did. I could come home wearing no bra but that would be worse than having my teen daughter tease me about the clothes I waswearing.

As the steam began to fill the small bathroom, I relaxed against the cold shower tiles, closing my eyes. How did all that mess happen? It had started out so well. Just the two of us. Nancy and I were going to have a nice dinner, go to a movie, and then go for drinks. This was the one night a month we allowed ourselves to have fun. Single moms have it hard. We’re all alone. There is no one to help with the daily stress of raising a teenager. No one to help with the housework or paying bills or mowing the lawn. It is all on our shoulders. We never get to go anyplace to unwind. So Nancy and I go out once a month just to unwind. When we did, our kids were sworn to a quiet evening at home. We would spring for movie rentals, soda, and junk food and they would swear to stay home and keep out of trouble.

That didn’t happen tonight. Instead, after the movie when we both reached into our purses to turn on our phones, Nancy’s phone beeped repeatedly, letting her know she had a missed call and maybe a voice mail. She listened to the voice mail as we walked to her car. We were supposed to meet some of the others from work at Hank’s for a late, unofficial “happy hour” as we sometimes did. I heard her gasp. “Oh no! This can’t be happening!” Jumping into the car with the phone glued to her ear Nancy said we had to go straight home. There was trouble. The neighbor had called.

When we got to Nancy’s house, we couldn’t find a parking space. The street and driveway were lined with cars. Music was blasting and teenagers were all over. Nancy pulled her car onto the lawn, causing a dozen inebriated teenagers to scatter. Inside the house, we found kids packing every room, the staircase, and the kitchen. There wasn’t even standing room. While we looked for her daughter, Sherry, a very drunk young lady bumped into me and spilled her “potent punch” all over my white ruffled tuxedo shirt. Just what I needed. This was the first time I had worn the shirt and the girl didn’t even excuse herself. She just continued to bump into everything and everyone in her path.

Finally, Nancy and I restored order, got rid of most of the sober teenagers and contacted the parents of the drunken ones to come retrieve their youngsters. Sherry had been locked in her room, afraid to come out and face her friends and all the people she didn’t know. She explained that she had only invited four girls but they had each text messaged their friends and soon their friends had text messaged their friends and before they knew it, there were dozens of teenagers eager to have a good time without adults. Her daughter hadn’t been able to get rid of them. She had called the neighbor and asked for help. The neighbor had tried to break it up but his efforts had all been futile so he had called Nancy.

When everyone left, Nancy and I started to throw out the trash and straighten up. Nancy told Sherry that the clean up was her responsibility but some of the cleanup had to be started tonight. On my hands and knees, picking up some of the larger pieces of trash before running the vacuum cleaner, I snagged my skirt on a piece of broken glass. I didn’t even notice it until I kept moving and realized that my knit skirt had unraveled beyond repair. I was left in nothing more than my slip. Nancy is a full five or six sizes larger than I am but her daughter is my size. Sherry went upstairs and got me some clothes to wear home. I had two choices. Wear my punch stained tuxedo shirt and my slip or her SLAYER t-shirt and micro mini skirt!

But would my daughter believe me? No, it was better to just play deaf. I decided to let the shower run a long, long time before having to face her.

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Reposted Story

I have posted this previously but it occurred to me that it goes with a recent post and I thought some of my readers might like it.

In this post from February 25, I wrote about being afraid of storm drains and the reason why. The post I am sharing with you tonight is a short story I wrote based on a similar night that caused the fear. It is written in a child’s voice.

Headlights In the Rain

I was so tired. I wanted to be home, warm, safe, in my bed, but I wasn’t. My mother and my brothers and sisters and I were walking home from the movies. It was dark and late. We had stayed all afternoon. We watched both movies and the cartoons over and over again. My mother gave us money to get food at the snack bar when we complained we were hungry.

We wanted to go home but my mother said it wasn’t time yet. So we stayed longer. Finally all the movies were over and everyone had left. We were the only ones there and the man came and said we had to leave. So we did.

When we walked outside, it was dark and cold and raining. My little sister complained that she didn’t want to walk. She cried and told my mother to call our father to come get us. My mother said no. She said our father should be asleep now and we couldn’t wake him up. So we started to walk.

This wasn’t the first time. It happened all the time. When my father didn’t have to work on the weekends, he would drink beer. A lot of beer. Then he would fight with us and with our mother. My mother always let him say things to her and even hit her but when he started to hit us, she would get mad at him. She would find a way to send us outside or in the other room where he couldn’t hit us. Then she would come and tell us to get our shoes on and our clothes ready because we were going for a walk. We had to be quiet.

And that is what happened today. He drank his beers. He yelled at my mother. He hit her. Then he started yelling at us. When he got up to hit David, my mother distracted my father and motioned for David to leave the room. Then we got our jackets and quietly waited for her. It didn’t take long. We went to the movies, walking quickly and looking back to make sure he wasn’t following us. Then we watched the movies and waited.

Now we are walking home, in the rain and I know we are all hoping he will be asleep when we get there, or the fighting will start again and we can’t leave at night time, in the rain, because all there is out there are headlights in the rain.

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Old But Good, #2

An old poem that resurfaced today:

Southbound On the I-5
Middle lane of the southbound I-5
listening to the classic oldies
singing along
“… oye, como va mi ritmo,
vamos a bailar …”
rudely interrupted
by that noisy Harley
coming up on my left

just as it reaches me
I am jolted, snatched, and
catapulted
backwards
to a time I barely recognized
my teen years
a foreign place
a different time zone

I see that girl
she’s wearing hot pants
the lime green ones
they have a matching top
sleeveless
sailor collar
that awful huge bow
right in the middle

She’s laughing
I hear it clearly
She’s happy
I can almost feel it too
The girl is filled with youth
filled with joy
filled with the unknown
the future

The girl knows little
not what life is about
not what the future will bring
not about the sorrows and the losses
not about the joys and the triumphs

The girl knows only NOW
she knows only wonder
she knows giddiness
she knows That Boy
and the dizziness she feels
she knows That Boy
and the way his leather jacket smells
she knows That Boy
and the way he looks at her
she knows That Boy
and the safeness he brings

The girl wonders
wonders about the uncomfortable feeling
in that secret area
wonders what her name would sound like
next to his
the girl smiles
not knowing much

Then I’m back in my blue Camry
“… you put a spell on me Baby…”
back in the middle lane
going southbound
and I smile
knowing so much
I still smile

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Confessions Of A One Time Santa-reposted

Note: This was originally posted here in December of 2007 but I thought some might like to re-read it.  I hope you enjoy it.

When my kids were in elementary school, there was a dad that would put on the Santa suit each year and he’d be driven in on a fire truck during the middle of a fire drill when the entire student body was out on the playground. After wishing everyone a Merry Christmas through a loud speaker, the kids would go back to class and Santa would make the rounds to each of the classrooms. The kids loved it.

However, once the dad’s youngest son was gone from the school, we had no one to play Santa. It was 1995 and I was the PTA president that year. We asked a number of the dads that were active with our Foundation and with PTA. We asked our male staff members. No luck. Everyone said no. So we were faced with not having a Santa Claus visit that year. To top things off, one family that was new to our school, said they were offended by the Santa visits because they were of a different faith and their children did not believe in Santa Claus. For a while, we thought we’d just quietly put an end to the tradition. Then some other mothers spoke up and said that they would be just as offended by not having a Santa Claus. It was very difficult to please them all and we tried to keep in mind that the ones that we should really be trying to please were the children. So we had a compromise. We continued to look for a Santa Claus but instead of having him arrive on school grounds, during school time, we had Santa appear at our after school Santa Shoppe, a Christmas boutique for the kids to come buy gifts for their family. The idea was that Santa would sit in a chair in the side room which would be decorated appropriately and parents could bring their kids in to sit on Santa’s lap and tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas. One mom set up with a Polaroid camera in case someone wanted a picture.

One problem remained. We had no Santa Claus! I couldn’t stand disappointing the kids, and Christmas is MY DAY! My birthday is on Christmas and I love the holiday. So I was determined to have Santa Claus visit the children, even if I had to wear the suit myself. And that’s exactly what I did. I was Santa Claus that year. There was just one problem. My youngest child was in kindergarten and desperately needed to keep believing in Santa Claus. So how would I handle that? I finally got the idea to just tell her that Santa was very busy so close to Christmas and he had to have helpers and I had been chosen as one of his helpers that year. She was so excited! Her mommy was Santa’s official helper! We swore her to secrecy so none of the other kids would find out. She gladly obeyed!

That one afternoon that I spent inside the Santa suit was one of the best six hour periods I have ever spent. It was hot in the suit. The wig and facial hair were itchy. But that didn’t matter. I was Santa Claus and as such, I was the subject of every child’s fantasy! They came and talked to me and held my hand, sat on my lap and asked me to go for a walk with them. Every hour or so, my daughter would hold one of my hands and we’d walk around the main room of the boutique saying hi to the kids and moms and letting them take our picture. For just a little while, I was idolized by so many! There was complete trust in me as Santa. They all wanted to be around me. I felt like the Pied Piper!

If you ever get the opportunity to play Santa, do it! You won’t regret it. It is the best feeling in the world!

In this photo, we are on our hourly walk to meet and greet. My daughter is the little dark haired girl holding my hand.

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