When the staff at the assisted living facility that my mother calls home now asked what she would like to be for their annual Halloween family dinner Thursday night, she replied: “A motorcycle mama.”
Mom met my dad on a motorcycle. Both rode. She climbed aboard a Harley Knucklehead in 1946 and rode — alone — from Meadows of Dan to Tampla, Florida to meet his parents.
So it was natural that I would share my parents’ passion for two-wheelers.
To fulfill my mom’s wish, I wheeled my Harley Super Glide into the assisted-living facility Thursday and she donned Amy’s motorcycle vest and my helmet to pose for photos alongside.
Before the night was over, more than a dozen residents and/or family members of residents asked for photos with the bike while my mother told stories of her days riding the highways on her Harley.
Before the evening ended, mom leaned over and asked: “Are you going to put this photo on your blog?”
I asked back: “Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please do. “Let everyone know I’m still alive and kicking.”
My pleasure mom. My pleasure.