Over the past week the response I've gotten most often to "My dad wrecked his Harley," isn't, "How is he?" but, instead is, "Your dad has a Harley? Cool."
Because he is going to be okay, I can live with this response. And it made me realize I don't know anyone else whose 71-year-old father has a Harley that he rides regularly. (Or at least used to ride regularly. He's still not sure whether it's totaled or not.) He rides it so regularly, in fact, that he owns assless chaps and a reflective, nearly glow-in-the-dark Harley vest.
He chipped his sternum in the accident, a break that takes a long time to heal because there's no setting it, and he can't stop breathing to hold it still. But his doctor says he'll be fine because he works out.
My father, who was a couch potato of the highest order for at least as long as my mother's known him and they were high-school sweethearts, started going to the gym after he retired. Before the accident he went to aerobics classes three times a week, shaming the other people (mostly women, he loves that), who are more than 20 years younger than he is. He's still looking for his six-pack abs, but he's not carrying around a keg anymore, just a case.
So I hope his recovery time isn't too long. I want him to get back to the gym, so he can get back on his Harley. (Or his airplane. He flies, too.) While I worry about him a little on his dangerous toys, I know he's a very cautious man. And I'd worry more if he took to sitting in his recliner and never moving from in front of the television, because my mother would kill him faster than the motorcycle or the airplane.
Besides I love having the only dad around who has a Harley, even if it also means he owns assless chaps!