40 years ago, my old man did the same thing to me, so it's all his fault.
I was eleven years old.
Letting me wrench on his old 45 left me with a curiosity that paid off.
My first bike was purchased new from Sears with my summer lawn mowing money, and it was all mine:
After riding around town following Dad for several months, he let me ride that 45 alone.... and the stone was set: I was a motorcyclist.
Later, he told me that although my bike slowed him down a bit, it was a very nice feeling that he had someone to ride along with that he could trust.
I think that was the day I became my father's son.
It did have benefits:
Christmas day 1968 was very special. I opened a giant box containing many more smaller boxes ending with a small envelope with two Honda keys and the title/paperwork:
(pic is not my bike..there was a Kodak moment, but Mom has it hidden away in one of hundreds of albums)
If he had not recognized that spark in me, I'd probably have been one of those asswipe high school kids with a Saturday night drinking problem and a (semi-hot ) Dodge Charger with a cheerleader girlfriend warming up the velour upholstery.
Instead, I was becoming an accomplished rider.
I was learning how to power drift on dirt, and about the only thing I was scared of was hooking a rock while I was deep into a turn.
Do your kids a favor, find something they like and introduce them ( properly! ) to it.
And who knows?
Maybe there's a chance you'll start something you're proud of...
