My 12-year-old son, Alex, has completely lost touch with reality. On a recent trip to the toy store (that was my first mistake) he decided he wanted a motorbike. He cannot have one. This is where the column should end. You should just see a bunch of white space to indicate that there is no further need for any additional words. I should simply write, The End.

The motorbike looks like a starter motorcycle to me and neither I nor his father, John, will bless this request. Alex has a bicycle to tool around the neighborhood. He has legs and they work well, too.

In an attempt to add insult to injury, this motorbike was teeny tiny. I mean, his knees looked like they were next to his neck. So if being on a motorbike is not risky enough, no car whizzing by is even going to see my child.

Currently, I am shaking my head, but you cannot see me doing this. That is how strongly I feel about this; I am alone in a room shaking my head. In actuality, the motorbike is probably an off-road dirt bike, but I did not read the fine print, or any print for that matter, on the box. I never even looked for the box to do any kind of follow-up at all.

I saw my son sit on it and look at me with giant blue eyes and a super-sized smile on his braces-free teeth. He looked like the cutest child on the planet and to me, he is the cutest child on the planet. Being adorable won't change my mind.

But since my son is the strongest-willed child on said planet, he followed up with an e-mail to John and to me with links to view motorbikes. I guess he was providing us with a forced choice. We could either buy him bike A or bike B. The choice was ours, although he clearly indicated that he would prefer motorbike A. I took the bait and clicked on the link. This motorbike was age-appropriate for 14-18 year olds. The vehicle could travel 14 mph. I closed the link. Excuse me while I take medication to calm myself down.

When I returned home from work that afternoon a very energized and loving child greeted me. Again, I was treated to the large blue eyes and beaming smile to be topped off with a hug for Mom. Yes, my middle-school child hugged me.

I left the house, walked outside, looked at the numbers on my house to confirm that I had entered the right home. It was a confusing moment for me. I had indeed entered the right house and it was my child who was showering me with affection. Golly gee, I really felt like I should hop in my car and immediately drive to that toy store and purchase that very expensive motorbike for my child. Wait, that's Alex's dream. Wake up, Alex.

I told Alex that he was not old enough to own the motorbike and we could revisit this discussion in two years, although I would not let him have one in two years either. I told him to talk with his grandmother about it because if anyone could talk some sense into him, she can. I then told him he could get this motorbike when hell freezes over. I'm not subtle.

Sadly though, he lost his sense of humor and Loving Alex was instantaneously replaced with Grumpy Alex. John and I are very familiar with Grumpy Alex. We even have a photo of Grumpy Baby Alex standing in his crib.

After Grumpy Alex could not change our minds, Future Litigator Alex revved into action with motorbike arguments. That was a fun conversation with lots and lots of snappy repartee.

The irony surrounding motorcycles is that when I met John, he owned a motorcycle. We took many wonderful rides along the back roads of Howard County. I know it sounds completely hypocritical of me to have once ridden on a motorcycle and to deny my child the joy of owning his own.

Rubbish. Four years after we married, Alex was born and John sold his motorcycle for two bicycles. He told me he wanted to live to see his son grow up and although I was very sad to see the motorcycle go, I understood and admired him for giving up something he dearly loved.

And that's the story of Alex's motorbike that will never be. Now, it's The End.

Share your own snappy repartee with Michelle Potocko at theconsciousmother@gmail.com.

user comments (0)