Sometimes, our relationships with our parents can be rocky at best.
And sometimes, it’s endearing when some of us try to salvage something despite the years of silence or lack of love.
Still, for some, it’s hopeless. In oblivious wuss Drew Whitaker’s case, there’s one obvious reason for things being not so great.
“I wonder why my dad hasn’t really talked to me in four years?” Whitaker said as he washed the side of his paltry excuse for a metal steed, his moped.
Whitaker considers calling his father many times a week and trying to patch things up, despite being not just the owner but also the regular rider of his moped–instead of, say, his children or a local eccentric riding it. It seems that Whitaker still does not see his primary mode of transportation as the biggest wrench in Whitaker’s paternal relationship.
“Every time I try to talk with him over the phone, Dad hands the phone over to Mom,” said the sad little man, his physique likely already becoming pallid and lax–a perfect match for the two-wheeled moped that isn’t as safe as a car, nor as demanding and cool as a motorcycle. “Then she just tries to talk to me like she’s trying to hide something from [a moped rider].”
Still, Whitaker admirably trudges on, puttering on his goofy, seated skateboard, looking toward the horizon and hoping for a brighter tomorrow.
“I guess I should apologize for robbing him of his savings,” Whitaker said as he honked at an oncoming car–the moped’s horn as timid as a kitten’s purr–and drove onward with blissful ignorance.