~ Aristotle Sabouni
Created: 2021-12-14 |
My Parents and I had battles over me getting motorcycle. Eventually, I got tired of the gamesmanship and just bought one, and kept it at a friends house. It took a few months before they found out -- and they threatened to kick me out over it. I told them just let me know when. They backed off for the moment, but I was out a year or so later anyways. I didn't do well with dumb-authority or hypocrisy, and my Parents weren't always wise about the battles they picked. Still, I'm a forgiving person, so we didn't have a horrible relationship, when they weren't trying to tell me what to do.
The backstory was I loved motorcycles. My neighbors had dirt bikes, and I got to ride them occasionally. And like almost everything I've ever tried, I was pretty good. (Not the best, but always well above average).
My Mom hated them. She said I could get one when I paid for it myself. (The neighbors had bought their kids bikes). And she would obstruct my Uncle/Grandparents from getting involved in that one.
So fine -- I worked and got the money. (I did that early and often). Then my Mom changed the rules (as she often did) and said, "No! I said if you got the money we'd talk about it. We're talking, and the answer is 'No!'".
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| My Mom's way of handling things was to make promises (or what I saw as promises) to end the immediate conflict and kick the can down the road, then when it was her turn to live up to her side of an agreement, she'd change the rules, and try to gaslight you about the promises. I was a hyper-literal/honest kid and adult, and this outraged me, and was a perpetual friction point for us. After a while, I got her to sign agreements, or got a tape recorder... and she'd still break the agreements later, "things change". It only got better when I just accepted that she was always going to distort her reality to fit the moment. You can't argue with crazy (people that sincerely believe their own bullshit). |
Then when my brother turned 11, they bought him a brand new Yamaha YZ-80. I was always the bastard child that reminded my Mom of her biggest mistake (getting impregnated at 18 by that Iranian guy) and treated as a 2nd hand member of the family -- but that was a bit much for me. It was sort of the beginning of the end of living at home. They weren't helping me with college as they'd promised, they'd were trying to control me as I was nearing 20 (and could out earn my neighbors parents), and the blatant favoritism was always a sore spot (their trying to gaslight me about it, made it worse).
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| There is nuance to the motorcycle double standard. Growing up, I was riding with my friends. But my Dad's best friend (Gunther) had bought his son a motorcyle, and he and Dad and Devon were going out riding together. So it was a family event for them, and Dad bought himself one as well. So some was just different time/situation. Still, they wouldn't spring for one for me: i was 19 and could afford my own: so it was a bit of a wedge issue for me being part of the family. Then they locked up Devon's bike (using my Lock), so I couldn't ride it. So I drilled out the lock (it was my lock), and rode it, off and on for about a year before they figured it out. |
I bought my own motorcycle (a street bike, because Mom would hate that), and was out within about another year or so. In truth, I got the bike because of traffic and commutes as well. And it was great for lane-splitting, and I wasn't a stupid rider, most of the time.
But it was Southern California. Even with only occasional bouts of stupid, I almost wiped out 1/2 dozen times on that thing. People cutting you off, detritus in the road, road ruts, tank slaps, oil-on-rain. I loved the open air part of riding, but soon tired of near death experiences, and sold it.
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