Babysitting Fat Boy

When our oldest son left for Iraq months ago, he entrusted his 2003 100th Anniversary Harley Davidson Fat Boy to my husband. He even bought a trailer to bring the bike to Florida in. While my husband started riding the bike immediately I just couldn't go with him. Enjoying our son's prized possession while he was in a war was just as unthinkable, unfair, illogical and just plain wrong in MY head.

Whenever I would consider riding on the back of the bike I constantly thought about my son: how excited he was when he bought the bike, how much fun he and his wife had riding together, the rides my husband always put together when our son was in town. Then there was the 8 1/2 x 11 page of instructions he left on how to clean it and a suitcase full of specialized brushes, clothes and GLOVES. Needless to say, there was a real sense of guardianship in taking care of this bike for our son.

So on a really beautiful Sunday afternoon in December I took my first ride. The entire time my mind stayed on our son. Tears streamed down my face as we cruised around the countryside. I wanted to yell to everyone we saw -- "This is our son's bike and he's fighting for your freedom -- do you understand that?" And to myself "He's eating MREs and spitting sand and we're having fun on HIS bike." Something is VERY wrong with this picture!

I'd love to say I got over it and have enjoyed many pleasant rides but that hasn't happened. There is too much of my son "in" that bike. My husband rides quite a bit. He enjoys "getting away from it all" on Saturday and Sunday mornings for a few hours. I know he is appreciating the trust placed in him and the opportunity given to him. But he's not a mom. He doesn't get it.