There is a new commercial on television for Harley Davidson motorcycles where some young children are listening to their grandfather talk about Harleys. He tells them there is nothing like it, the roar of the engine, the wind whipping through your hair. He looks off into the distance with a wistful look, dreaming of years gone by.
The kids look up at him, their eyes wide as saucers and exclaim, “Granddad! We didn’t know you had a Harley!” As if owning a Harley gives a man instant respect.
He answers, “I never got one. I spent the money on aluminum siding.” The kids give him a disappointed look and get up to go see what their grandma is doing.
I suspect this commercial will have a profound effect on home repairs and family spending all across America. You can substitute the words “carpet”, “new kitchen cabinets”, “sending the kids to college” or something like “ornamental bushes” and well, you’ve described just about everybody I know. “I never got a Harley because we spent the money on ornamental bushes.” “I never got a Harley because we spent the money on that trip to Opryland.” “I never got a Harley because we added on that room for the in-laws.”
In our case, it looks like we’re going to have kids in college well into the next century. And yes, new carpet is the next thing on our list.
But every time we hear that commercial my husband gives me a look. You know, a look that says, “I wish I could have a Harley.” You know what they say … the only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.
My husband has been talking about Harleys for just about as long as I’ve known him and I still don’t fully understand the allure. The longing has risen and fallen with the years, but currently is at an all-time high. The commercial is not helping any.
I asked him if a Honda or Suzuki cycle would cure this feeling, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He said it’s the difference between hamburger meat and steak, the difference between paper plates and china. Harleys are classy. They are powerful. They are manly. A Harley is a testament to one’s very masculinity. Men who are on the front of Harlequin Romance novels probably have Harleys back in their garages at home.
And yes, a man believes owning a Harley garners him instant respect among his peers. Not to mention the grandchildren.
I always thought men who drove Harleys all had ponytails and tattoos. But with this latest yearning, he is discovering men from all walks of life who “already” have one. A doctor, a farmer, a storeowner, a stockbroker. They sure didn’t get talked into the aluminum siding, he tells himself.
A Harley graces my computer now, a black and silver beauty set as my wallpaper. I find photos of Harleys printed out among the papers on my desk. This is getting pretty serious.
We went to Mardi Gras in Galveston recently and they were selling beads with miniature Harleys swinging at the ends. I bought him one for a surprise … it may be the only Harley he’ll ever own, I teased him.
His birthday is coming up and I asked him what he wanted. With a look that was both solemn and serious he said, “All I want to do is go look at Harleys. I don’t want to buy one, but I just want to go look.”
I’m guessing this family will NEVER have aluminum siding.
