So, youth really isn't a gift until a body has reached middle age. And then how do you really 'give' something that you can see in the rear view mirror?
I'm not altogether sure.
Fuzzy decided quite some while ago he wanted to feel the wind in his hair. A more challenging prospect than you might think since he is shiny on top.
Long ago he was into motorcycles. Having lived in the country and learned to ride in a field, he didn't struggle with the open road until he was old enough to drive (he did the motorcycle type thing when he was about 12).
He decided a few weeks ago he was going to be into them again.
It was the last thing I wanted for him (bad history and all that rot).
I struck a deal with the Universe, if he could find training and a bike for price under a set amount of my choosing, I wouldn't be horrible about it.
Dag nab if it didn't happen. He was the top of his class in safety school. He found a bike (and helmet) under the specified limit. And he bought the thing.
The real gift isn't the loud bit of mid-life crisis in my drive way.
The real gift is going to be MY silence about it. I'll be the one with my nose in a book and my cell phone ready to dial emergency services if things go sideways.
Fingers crossed and things will work out fine.