Mom hated motorcycles and put the fear of God in us three kids about them.
Except for my oldest brother Jay. Jay loved motorcycles. He did BMX and motorcross.
When I was about 15 or so, Jay moved to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. It was March or April.
He left his cat Shooter with Paul, a cat-hating roommate, until Mom could get Shooter. The apartment he lived in in Florida didn’t allow cats.
“Oh, by the way, um, Shooter’s pregnant.” Jay told Mom when she called to tell him she was getting Shooter the next day.
I’m sure Mom thanked Jay profusely. Especially after Shooter had her kittens on Mom’s bed at 2 AM one Monday morning – about 8 hours after we returned from a road trip to visit Jay.
Late June or early July, Mom called to ask Jay if he were coming to the lake (Atlanta) for the 4th of July. Indeed, he was. She asked if he were driving. He said, “Um, yeah, I’m driving.” He would stay with his long time best friend, Tracy.
Probably on Saturday of that 4th of July weekend, we were all at the lake and heard another vehicle so Mom and I went to see if it were Jay. Sure enough it was.
On the motorcycle - an Yamaha FJ1200 - he bought.
He probably bought it before he got an apartment when he got to Florida.
Mom, realizing it was too late to be horrified, asked, “Is THIS what you meant by 'driving' up here?”
“Yep.” was all Jay said.
From then on, we all knew the code for a white lie was the prelude “Um…”, regardless of the speaker.
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