When I'm Dead

It started when my ten-year old son asked if he could ever get a motorcycle.  He knew how I felt about them: they were more dangerous than strangers.  We had seen a fabulous motorcycle coming down the street, driven by James Dean in his leather jacket with no helmet, being straddled from behind by a leggy Bond girl.  Even I could understand the attraction.  My son explained that he knew he couldn't get a motorcycle while he still lived at home, but he wondered if he might be allowed to get one when he was a grown man.

I loved the innocence of a boy who had never considered the day when his mother would not be in charge.  I imagined him all grown up, calling from his apartment, asking if he really had to wear his winter coat to work, or checking to see if he could have a snack even though it was awfully close to dinner.  I was reveling in my imagined power, but my son was serious.  He wanted to know about the motorcycle.

"Well," I said slowly, "Maybe when I'm dead."

My son considered my answer.  "Really?" he asked.

"Yes," I decided.  If he would let me, I would continue to make the rules as long as I was alive, but I would relinquish control when I died.  That only seemed fair.  It was my own version of "over my dead body."

That night we came home, and my son excitedly told his younger brother that they could get motorcycles just as soon as Mom was dead. Now there was something to look forward to!  My younger son was thrilled.  He wanted to be a police officer, but thought that the other officers would tease him because his Mom wouldn't let him ride a motorcycle.

Who knew anyone was listening to me?

That was the day we created the list of "Things You Can Do When I'm Dead."  Over the years, when a boy asks for something that is absolutely out of the question, I tell him oh yes, of course you can get tattoos all over your beautiful body, just as soon as I'm dead.  Pierce your nose?  No problem!  Just as soon as I'm dead.  It's so much easier than always saying, "No!"  We just added a new one to the list when my son asked if he could go to an unchaperoned co-ed sleepover at a Wisconsin lake house on prom night.

While I hope that I will live long enough for the boys to come to their senses on these matters, I have certainly entertained the idea of the two of them driving up to my funeral on their Harleys, with matching giant tattooed hearts on their arms that of course read "MOM."

Please just let them be wearing helmets.