Humor for the Heart Stories, Quips, And Quotes to Lift the Heart

Chapter One Cynthia and I are into Harley-Davidson motorcycles. I know, I know...it doesn't fit our image. Who really cares? Westopped worrying about our image years ago. We should be ashamed of ourselves?We aren't. We're having a mutual mid-life crisis? We hope so. We should bebetter examples to the youth? They love it! Actually, it's only a few crotchetyadults who don't. What are we going to say to our grandkids? "Hey, kids, wannaride?" 1 And how are we supposed to explain it to the "the board?" They don't careeither.We are having more fun than anybody can imagine (except fellow Harley riders).One of the best things about the whole deal is that those guys and gals down atthe bike shop don't have a clue as to who we are. We have finally found a placein our area where we can be out in public and remain absolutely anonymous. Ifanybody down there happens to ask our names, we'll just tell 'em we're Jim andShirley Dobson. Those Harley hogs don't know them either. You should have been in the showroom when I first sat on oneof those big bikes. Cynthia stood a few feet away and just stared. She didn'tknow whether to laugh out loud or witness to me. She compromised and hopped onbehind after I winked at her. She couldn't resist. As soon as she leaned forwardand whispered in my ear, "Honey, I could get used to this," I knew it wouldn'tbe long before we'd be truckin' down the asphalt without a worry in the world. We sat there and giggled like a couple of high schoolsweethearts sipping a soda through two straws. She liked the feel of sittingclose to me (she couldn't resist, naturally), and I liked the feel of her behindme and that giant engine underneath us. And that inimitable Harley roar. Man, itwas great! Suddenly, sitting on that shiny black heritage SoftailClassic with thick leather saddlebags, we were on the back streets of Houston in1953 all over again, roaring our way to a Milby High School football game. Shewas wearing my letterman's sweater and red-and-white saddle oxfords, and I had aflattop with a ducktail and a black leather jacket with fringe and chrome studs! When we came back to our senses, we realized that somehow wewere sorta misfits. I mean, a responsible senior pastor and radio preacher in asuit and tie with a classy, well-dressed woman who is executive vice presidentof Insight for Living perched on a Harley-Davidson in a motorcycle showroom.Everybody else was wearing t-shirts, torn jeans, boots, black leather stuff, andsported tattoos. I saw one guy who had a tattoo on each arm...one was a snarlingbulldog with a spiked collar and the other was a Marine insignia--the eagle,globe, and anchor of the Corps! A few folks were glancing in our direction as ifto say, "Get serious!" And Cynthia leaned up again and whispered, "Do you thinkwe ought to be in here?" "Of course, honey, who cares? After all, I'm a Marine! What Ineed is a pair of black jeans and leather chaps and all you need is a tattoo,and we'll blend right in." The jeans and chaps for me, probably someday. ButCynthia with a tattoo? I rather doubt it. Somehow I don't think it would go oververy big at formal church dinners and the National Religious Broadcastersbanquets. We have had one hilarious time with this in our family.Especially since I raised all four kids with only one unchangeable Swindollrule: "You will not ever ride or own a motorcycle!" Now the old man and his babeare roaring all around town. And it's our now-grown kids who are trying tofigure out what's happened to their parents and what to say to their kids whenthey see their grandparents tooling down the freeway like a couple ofgray-haired teenagers. Actually, we'reJohnson, Barbara is the author of 'Humor for the Heart Stories, Quips, And Quotes to Lift the Heart', published 2000 under ISBN 9781416533436 and ISBN 1416533435.