"I WILL BUST YOUR ASS!!!"

Late one afternoon last May.

The phone rings. RZ answers. In the haze of my nap state, I hear her tell the caller: "Yes ma'am, but he's asleep. Well ok, hold on a second."

Then my daughter walks over to me and says, "Dad. Dad. Wake up. It's Guy." ("Guy" is my mom's nickname--long story).

"Tell her I'm sleeping."

"I did, but she says she REALLY needs to talk to you."

So I crawl off the red sofa and pick up the phone.

Me: "Hey Pat."

Mom: "Markham, I need you to come over here". Actually that's only half true, what she actually said was "Mah-cuhm I need you to cuh movuh heee-uh." what with her deep southern drawl and all.

Me: "Uh huh. Well, uh, let me wake up and I'll be over in an hour or so."

Mom: "No, I need you to cuh movuh now! Righ' NOW."

Me: "Ok. What's up? You alright?"

Mom: (pissed and snippy) "Oh I'm fine. Fine. Jus' FINE. It's your fah-thuh. I need you to cuh movuh and pull your fah-thuh out of thuh ditch. He jus' bought a mowduh scoot-uh, and he's already crashed it into thuh ditch."

Me: Enjoying the visual that's running through my head. I figured my dad was alright, otherwise there might have been a hint of pity in her voice.

Mom: "Mah-cuhm? You thay-uh?"

Me: "Um, yeah. I'm on my way."

The drive to their house takes me all of about eight minutes. When I pull into their driveway I see my mom looking down into the creek that runs in front of their house. She's a pissed-off, yet cool character as I walk up. She looks down in the creek again, looks at me, rolls her eyes, shakes her head as she walks away to her perch on the front steps.

I look over and see my dad, red as a beet, with sweat flying off of his wild, helmet pressed, white hair-- trying to push his brand new black Vespa out of the 8 foot deep creek.

"Pop. You a'ight?" I asked as I'm climbing down through the ivy to help.

"Aw I'm fine. Jus' he'p me get this thing out of the ditch. You take the front end an' pull, an' I'll push it from down here." he says.

So I latch myself onto a tree with one hand and grab the scooter with the other. On the count of three we heave the bike up and out of the creek and he's able to bring it back onto the driveway.

Pop: (seriously pumped on adrenaline) "DANG IT! My first ride on the cotton-pickin' thang and I wind up wreckin' it, I ain't had it home no more than fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes! I went up the hill and around the neighborhood, when I was coming back down the hill I guess I was going too fast to make the turn and when I hit the bump on th' driveway I jus' lost it, they told me I was 'sposed to lean into the turns, now I guess I know what they mean, I went running off the driveway, missed the tree, thank goodness, then the thang jus' fell out from unduh me. I ain't hurt, I'm embarrassed, knocked around a lil' bit, but I ain't hurtin', it's uh wuhn-duh I didn't kill myse'f."

My mom's ears perk up when she hears him mention "the thang jus' fell out from unduh me." and she comes off the porch in a mild roar.

"Fell out from unduh yuh? Len-uhd (Leonard) you went flat ovah them handle bahs! Mah-cuhm I tell ya he looked jus' like Supuh-man flyin'. Flat! In mid ai-uh! Jus' like this." and my mom stretches out her arms in flying superhero fashion. Angry.

"Holy crap Pop. Nice bike. It's not banged up at all." I say trying to lighten the mood.

"I've wanted one of these thangs all my life. Now I finally got me one." He says that with a true sense of accomplishment. Almost as if he's saying "God. Family. Country. Vespa." Pretty good priorities for a 69-year-old man I guess.

"Yeah, it's bad-ass too. Although I never figured you much of the Hell's Angel type. Let alone a flyin' Hell's Angel." I'm trying to lighten the mood even more.
"Don't tell nobody 'bout this 'kay? It's embarrassin'."

"Don't tell anybody?!?! Dude! you're the Vespa Warrior! Your legend must live on!"

"Naw seriously. Don't tell nobody. It kinda busted my pride."

"All right. I won't say anything. But the 'Vespa Warrior' tale would go down in history."

After our "understanding" he and I play around with his new scooter. He's showing off all the buttons, all the bells and all the gear. Excited as a kid. Later he takes it for another, slower, check-out ride. Being one to learn from his mistake, he leans into the turns and makes it around the block several times without a problem.

A week later I'm over at his house. I'm looking at his scooter when I noticed a label that he's made and stuck to the spot just beneath the speedometer.

Printed on the label, in 100 point, bold, sans-serif type:

"I WILL BUST YOUR ASS!!!"

As if he needed a reminder.