For Sale: Everything.
The hauler. The bikes. The parts. The truck. The gear. The kid. The husband. Shit I’ll throw in the dog, too.
Just get me out of here.
Sound familiar? I made a post like that yesterday morning, partially in jest. I wanted out. Done. Finito. Please let me walk away while my kid CAN still walk. Please let us stop fighting and arguing about stupid shit. This isn’t going where you might think. I’ll say that while the weekend was mostly great, it wasn’t ideal. Although really, what is ideal, aside from riding away healthy? In that respect, it was perfect.
Yesterday morning I needed to empty the entire hauler so it could be ran to the shop. I asked the kids for help. My pleas were met with whines, stomps and no.
No.
The audacity.
Can you imagine telling your parents NO you won’t help unload the thousands of dollars of bikes that you got to ride all weekend while hanging out with your friends the in super nice hauler they bought to drag your sorry ass all over the country? Yeah, if you ever met OG MotoMom Robo or Jerry C. you already know I would NEVER.
Let’s say that the camper was cleaned out. So was the house, the backyard track worked on, practice done and probably about a million other things after a good old fashion momma whippin’.
So here’s where this is headed. Moms, Dads, Grandparents; whoever is taking the kids to the track: Go get them right now. Sit them down. Read this to them. Some of the kiddos need to hear this more than others. Some are just a smidge too young to get it at all. Others, you might need to kick them in the pants first, then read it.
MotoKid,
I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts. You have no idea the lengths your family goes through to support you. Everything that happens is for you. You might not always have the very best of everything but it’s everything we have. We commit to continue loving you. We commit to continue doing our damndest to provide you with these INSANE amount of privileges and opportunities. In return I request a couple things.
Trust. Respect. Effort. Enjoyment.
I’ll explain.
I don’t need you to know how much the camper cost or how many days of work I sacrificed to drive across the globe for the last race. It doesn’t matter because you’re not capable of grasping the concept yet. You will at some point and you’ll probably call me up, God willing I’m around to see it, and you’ll tell me how spoiled and rotten your kids are and I will shake my head and know deep in my bones what it’s like. I’ll also chuckle because it took 25 more years but you figured it out eventually.
So I ask that you trust what I’m telling you. Trust that if I tell you to send a jump it’s because I know it’s in your capability. Likewise trust that if I tell you to clean out the fridge in the camper it’s because I trust that it’s in your capability.
Respect that I know what I’m talking about, I learned it from your Papa and you’ll learn it from me. Respect that your family is doing everything within our limits- and sometimes beyond to provide this life for you.
I ask that you give effort. I know, somedays your max effort is less than other days. But I ask that you try. That you commit. That you do what you can, every time. I ask of that on the track. I ask of that at home. I ask of you to give effort in the GOING. Racing isn’t just Saturday practice and Sunday motos. Racing is the washing, the loading, the packing, the grocery shopping, the driving, the weekend, the unloading and redoing it all a few days later. If we don’t give all our effort in each of these tasks you won’t make it to the line Sunday morning. Return the favor.
All of this is a LOT of work. But to your family it is worth it to see you smile as you start your bike, give a helmet kiss to you mom and knucks to your dad. Those few seconds make the hours toiling to pay for and then provide the opportunity all we need. If you do not love this, say so. We don’t have to do it. We want this to be enjoyable for all.
Kid, I love you. Have fun but never forget the work it takes to make us a motocross family. And that makes us pretty damn special.
See you Sunday,
MotoMom
