I make no secret of the fact that I’ve had a remarkably easy time raising the Sonbeam, mainly because I ignored him and outsourced his care as much as possible during those crucially formative years, and then spent the bulk of his adolescence guilt-tripping him about it (as opposed to doing things the other way around, as many parents do). In fact, I can honestly say that my delinquent puss Ben has given me far more sleepless nights than his human “brother” ever did. So far the Sonbeam and I have had exactly five serious arguments, and two of those were based upon his facial hair choices. The other three were about his educational decisions, which I firmly opposed, but ended up grudgingly paying for anyway.
Recently we had our sixth argument. It was about him getting a motorcycle, which I am against for all sorts of personal and ecological reasons. I just don’t see why he feels the urge to get a bike. We live in a city with an extremely comprehensive public transport system, and in fact most of Japan is accessible by train or ferry. Bikes are dangerous, they pollute the environment, and they get stopped all the time by police (who apparently have nothing else to do in Japan but attempt to apprehend bike thieves, which is nice I suppose). Furthermore, the flimsy Japanese scooter bikes are virtual deathtraps when in comes to collisons – I’ve twice witnessed bike and car collisions, and in each case the bike rider ended up mashed all over the road, whilst the car got barely a ding.
In other words, I just don’t want him riding around out there … unless I’m riding pillion, and we’re going shopping.