Of course, today, at my age and current weight, I would look ridiculous riding a motorcyle. People would see me and think that a bear escaped from the circus and that would pretty much destroy the cool jock image I was originally going for.


When I was in elementary school, a few kids in my neighborhood got mini-bikes. I had never seen motorcycles built for kids. I fell in LOVE with them immediately and thankfully, some of the kids who owned them would let me ride theirs so I got to experience the thrill of riding them firstand. It was amazing! I wanted a mini-bike so bad that I could hardly stand it. I WANTED one!!!! I begged and I begged but my parents would not budge. When my cousin, Donna got one I was so upset that I privately cried and pouted for days. She asked for one and she received one. She didn't even have to beg. THAT was a sort of father/daughter transaction that was totally unfamiliar to me. I couldn't understand how her dad, who was my dad's brother could be so willing to get her such things when I had to beg all day just to drag a single dollar out of my dad. And I know what you're thinking but even if he hadn't had a motorcycle wreck, he wouldn't have spent that kind of money on me. Spending big bucks (or really, small bucks) on his children, just really wasn't his way when he was younger. I was so frustrated with him!


Donna let me ride hers one day when we went over to visit my grandma (she lived right across the street) and I had a blast. I made my parents come outside to watch because I was just sure that if my parents could see how much I enjoyed riding Donna's mini-bike, they would give in and get me one, but they were completely unphased by my ploy.


A couple of years later, when Donna outgrew her first mini-bike, her parents bought her a slightly bigger one. (Can you say salt in my wounds?, lol) That spurred me on to try again to convince my parents that my childhood would be tragically incomplete without a mini-bike of my own but they wouldn't even consider it. The matter was not open for discussion. Of course, being the persistent child that I was, I continued to try, but every time I did, they shut me down quickly and mercilessly. No sale. I couldn't even get a "Maybe someday". Parents are ALWAYS willing to acquiesce to the maybe someday! What did they have to lose with a maybe someday? It's infinitely open-ended and it's largely non-commital. They couldn't at least give me a maybe someday? What the crap?!


These people meant business.


Later, when I was in the 8th grade, several of my basketball friends got brand new motorcycles. I'm talking adult bikes that required a license because they were street legal. All of a sudden, I had friends who were able to drive themselves to school and all over town. And, of course, my cousin Donna got one of those, too, making it official: As far as I was concerned (at that time), out of all of my Granny Mom's 7 kids, I had been stuck with the seriously sucky one. (I know, I know. What a brat. But in my defense, my dad was not exactly Father of the Year at that particular time and I was just a stupid, selfish kid. Remember the maybe someday? Come ON!) I watched my cousin and friends pull up to our middle school every spring morning on their brand new motorcycles and dreamed how very cool I would look if I could join them. It was my constant passion that spring. I couldn't stand it. I wanted a motorcycle more than I wanted oxygen. And really, I could have used one because I lived far away from our school and often got stuck walking home from basketballsoftball practice. I also got stuck walking up 6th street hill carrying my athletic bag, my books, and my trombone more than a few times. Almost every time I needed a ride anywhere, my mom was at work and unable to leave long enough to come and get me. Obviously, I mostly wanted one because they were fun but in reality, I needed some form of reliable transportation. Still, no matter how many times I showed up at Anthony's hot, sweaty, and almost in tears because my hands were so sore from lugging that trombone all the way across town, my mom continued to refuse my pitiful pleas. If I had had any sense at all, I would have figured out right then and there that a check to Honda was never coming out of my mom's holster but I was blindly determined so my campaign soldiered on. : )


By the time school started in the 9th grade, I was getting really desperate so I went for the full court press. I made up my mind that I was going to talk my parents into getting me a motorcycle for Christmas that year. I summoned every kid beg-and-guilt trick in my arsenal and I released a campaign of attacks so powerful and clever that it would have made Norman Schwarzkopf cry. I mean, I don't want to brag but when it came to begging, I was a bit of a prodigy.


My parents divorced that year so I didn't see my dad very much but every time I did, I hit him up for the motorcycle. I foolishly thought I could get to him by reminding him of how much he loved them when he was younger, and by reminding him that he had spent big bucks buying them for himself when I was younger, (as if) but the only thing that did was annoy him and re-remind him of how dangerous they were. (Good job, Terri) Christmas came and went without a Honda product under our tree.


When Christmas of my 10th grade year rolled around, I was STILL begging and STILL believing I was going to win the motorcycle war with my parents. I am nothing if not persistent. And, tell the truth. By now, after reading my sad saga up to this point, even you want to buy me a motorcycle don't you? Uh-huh. I thought so.


Steel, I'm telling you. These parent folk of mine were made of freaking, impenetrable, unomovable, unshameable steel.


Still, I resolved that I would not be deterred.


Finally, (don't let that word excite or fool you - there's no motorcycle in it) when I was a junior in high school, another cousin, Benny, got a brand new motorcycle. By that time, I was also wanting a car so as you can surely understand, I was very confused. Like all 16-17 year olds, I certainly wanted a car. But I also still wanted a motorcycle. Thanks to my parents, I was now TWO modes of transportation behind everyone else. And did I mention that Benny was two years younger than I? And did I mention that he didn't have to beg for his motorcycle either? They weren't rich. They lived in the apartments just like us! Both of his parents were retired! If they could afford a motorcycle then my mom could afford one. AARRRGGGHHHHH!!!!


Seriously. WHAT. THE. CRAP?


The war was getting brutal.


So I devised one last-ditch plan. Said plan went a little something like this:


Cars are much more expensive than motorcycles.


All moms secretly want to buy a car for their kids.


Mom probably felt a little bad about not being able to buy a car for me (My dad could afford it but that is another post entirely)


Even my mom was surely starting to feel a little guilty about me being the only one of my family or friends without some mode of transportation since even Benny was now traveling independently though he was a full two years younger than me.


Therefore, I would tell my mom that I really wanted a car, but would happily settle for a motorcycle.


She would realize how much cheaper the motorcycle would be.


She would appreciate my willingness to selflessly and desperately compromise, and realize just how badly I really wanted some vehicle of my own.


My mom would FINALLY relent, and get me the motorcycle.


Yes. That's how I PLANNED for it all to go. And given the brilliance and beauty of my plan, that's just how it should have gone. The way I saw it, the Honda truck should be pulling into our parking lot to deliver my shiney new bike in 24 hours or less. It was practically a done deal. I was so excited and so proud of myself that I stood there pretending to shake hands with countless imaginary people who had come from miles around to acknowledge my perseverance and congratulate me on my hard-won victory. They would write inspirational books about me. There would be songs. Everyone was in awe of my extraordinary spirit of determination. This was my moment. Triumph was finally within reach. So confident was I that I actually considered making a call to the local dealership to make sure they had a 125 in blue. I mean, if given no other choice, I would accept a gold one like Donna's, or a red one like Benny's but really, blue was the color I wanted. I decided that if they did have one, I should probably ask them to hold it since we wouldn't be able to make it there until the following day. After all, mom didn't get off of work until almost 6:00. Now that I had her right where I wanted her, there was no need to rush her. That would just be greedy and selfish of me. I had waited for almost four years so I could wait for one more day. See? I was a great kid. I totally deserved that motorcycle.


The way it played out in my head was that after I presented my spiel, my mom would try to resist just a little bit out of habit. I'd throw in a little extra guilt if necessary. Something along the lines of "Dian's dad just bought her a Cutlass. That's the exact car I have been wanting. She's so lucky". Mom would get defensive, I would give her the silent treatment through dinner, and then we'd let it simmer until bedtime. Before going to bed, my mom would call me into the living room where we would apologize to one another, I'd cry, and we'd have a real heart to heart talk. She would see the error of her ways, have pity on my plight, and finally agree that she really should get me that motorcycle. In the spirit of compromise, I would assure her that I didn't care what time we went down to the Honda dealership tomorrow. In fact, I would tell her, I would be perfectly willing to leave school at noon if it would be more convenient for her to take me during her lunch hour instead of after work, when she would be oh, so tired. We would hug, she'd tuck me in bed, we'd exchange "I love you's" and that would be that.


And you know what? When my mom arrived home that day, I wowed her with my brilliant plan and the whole scenario played out exactly the way I had thought that it would. Yes indeedy. It went exactly like that.


Except,... that it didn't.


Oh, I presented my argument flawlessly. That much, and ONLY that much went according to plan. And then, my mom responded.... by cussing a blue streak filled with so much anger and rage that it burned a black hole in the earth's atmosphere that is probably still hovering over that apartment complex today. If global warming is a real and present danger then I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it began that day, at that exact moment, because of me.


My apologies to Al Gore and GreenPeace members everywhere.


But I digress.


Where was I? Oh, yes. The blue streak of death.


Fortunately I can't remember all of it. I blacked out shortly after, "I don't give a damn who's dad bought them a car, I'm not buying you any *** damned motorcycle and if you want a car, you tell your sorry-a**ed daddy who's living up there in Lawton in a new house that he's paying for with his wh*re of a dirty wife and ugly-a**ed kids that aren't even his to buy you one!"


Good times.


Once I came to, I took one look at the smoke still billowing from my mom's nostrils as her head continued to rotate 360 degrees upon her shoulders and decided that I really didn't want a motorcycle that badly after all. I also decided that my mom knew more cuss words than a one-legged Navy prostitute but that, like so many other things that have arisen as a result of this walk down memory lane, is a story for another day.