My Father Took Back the Bike I Restored, So I Gave Him a Taste of Payback

My Father Took Back the Motorcycle He Gifted Me after I Restored It, So I Got My Revenge

Seth’s father grudgingly gives him an old motorcycle as a means to make things right after his parents forget his birthday. However, Seth’s father demands the return of the unique motorcycle restoration project he has been working on for months. Seth had to choose between getting his retribution and easily returning the old Harley.

When my eighteenth birthday rolled around, my parents barely acknowledged it. Not a single birthday present, cake, card, or even a visit to my dorm room, of course. It hurt more than I wanted to admit, but I tried to be calm about it.

However, my dad contacted me to come over to their house the following morning.

Throwing me a pair of keys, he continued, “I’ve got something for you, Seth.”

I caught them with ease, but I didn’t understand.

“For what purpose is this?” I enquired. I already had my mom’s old car, and they didn’t look like car keys.

My father gestured to a tarp that was covered in dust in the garage’s corner. For as long as I could remember, it had been there, concealing something I was instructed not to touch.

I was shocked to discover what was underneath the tarp when I removed it. It was a 1973 Shovelhead, my dad’s old Harley. It was the bike that had always seemed just beyond of reach—the stuff of my childhood aspirations.

When I was younger, all I wanted to do was sit on the motorcycle and take my dad’s leather jacket. But every time I attempted to touch it, he would yell at me.

“Seth, if there’s even a single scratch on it, I’ll take away all of your spending money.”

That alone dissuaded me from pursuing the dream bike.

“You’re presenting the Harley to me?” With a mix of joy and disbelief in my voice, I asked.

My dad dismissed it with a casual shrug.

Yes, son, why not? he exclaimed. To be honest, it hasn’t run in years, so good luck with that. Seth, think of it as a belated birthday present.

I was in shock.

I could finally feel the engine roar beneath me and the wind in my hair as I rode that bike. It was going to be even better than I could have imagined. At last, I was going to resemble my father.

I felt the gift as I ran my palm over the cracked leather seat.

“As you are, Dad,” I said. “I swear I’ll look after her well.”

That motorcycle quickly became my new fixation once I had those keys in my possession.

When I brought the Harley over in a friend’s old pickup truck, the mechanic exclaimed, “Jeez, son.” There’s work to be done in this area. However, I can handle the major tasks for you, and if you have enough confidence, you can handle the lesser ones.

From my job as a café barista, I saved every cent. I treated every customer with extra courtesy, expecting big gratuities that would go directly toward funding the restoration of my motorcycle.

Before long, I would spend all of my free time—weekends, nights, and otherwise—outside riding the motorcycle. I disassembled it, rebuilt it, and restored the original components. I studied every handbook I could find and watched innumerable YouTube lessons.

I was hunched over my laptop on the couch when my roommate Brett remarked, “What are you doing now?”

“I’m searching online forums for motorcycle-related advice,” I remarked.

He laughed, “That’s all you do these days, buddy.”

After waiting for fourteen months, the day arrived. After polishing the final chrome piece, I took a step back and looked at my creation. Under the garage lights, the Harley shone brightly, as if it had just come off the assembly line.

I said to myself, “Good job, Seth.”

I was so excited about showing it to my parents, especially my dad, that I could barely contain my joy. I could almost picture his proud expression and the sparkle in his eyes when he realized what I had accomplished.

I wished that something I had accomplished would eventually make him proud. However, nothing had prepared me for what was about to happen.

Like a giant cat, the engine purred beneath my legs as I rode it over to my parents’ house. Anxiety shot through me as soon as I pulled into the driveway. I hadn’t experienced this level of anxiety since I was awaiting word on my college acceptance.

“Dad? Mom?” As I entered the corridor, I made a call.

My mother called and said, “We’re in the kitchen.”

They were in the kitchen when I stepped in. While Mom was busy assembling a lasagna, my dad was sipping tea.

“I have something to present to you,” I stated. “That’s outside.”

When they saw the motorcycle, they widened their eyes and followed me outdoors.

“Oh my god,” my father cried out. Is the Harley there? My previous Harley? She appears stunning!

Yes, I said with a smile. I’ve been working on it for the past year. How do you feel?

My dad stepped closer to the motorcycle before they could respond. His eyes grew narrower as he processed it. As if he was having trouble believing what he was seeing, he ran his hands along the chrome.

With a tense voice, he questioned, “You did all this?”

“Yes, I did!” I said with a proud smile. “Every free moment and surplus funds were invested in this effort. And she’s flawless now.

I thought for one moment I saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes, but then his expression softened. His expression grew serious, and I sensed a shift within.

He spoke carefully and continued, “You know, Seth, this bike is worth a hell of a lot more now.” When I gave it to you, I believe I was being overly giving.

I blinked, not sure what to think.

“Dad, what do you mean?”

My dad cleared his throat without looking directly at me.

With a final tone, he declared, “I’m going to take it back.” “In addition, I’ll pay you $1,000 for your efforts.”

“Are you serious?” I questioned, unable to control my rage.

He gave a nod.

“Seth, it’s only fair.”

I wanted to scream at him, telling him how unjust he was and how much money and effort I had put into that bike. However, I was aware that arguing would not further my cause. My dad was extremely obstinate.

Yes, I replied. “Whatever you deem equitable.”

He seemed shocked that I didn’t confront him about it, but my retaliation wasn’t over. It’s okay if he wants to play dirty. That was a game I could play too. I just had to approach it more strategically.

A few days later, I noticed my father talking about his “newly restored” Harley and that he was planning to take it to an upcoming bike meet with some of his old riding friends on social media.

“It’s on now,” I told myself.

On the day of the gathering, I observed my father pulling up in the Harley, looking every bit the pleased owner of a gorgeous vehicle. Everyone in the parking lot turned to watch him as he cranked the engine.

He was unaware, though, that I had made a small alteration of my own.

I had put in a small, plain switch underneath the seat. However, it was a safety measure in case the Harley was ever taken. With a quick flip of the remote, which was securely in my hand, I could access the switch and turn off the fuel line.

I waited until he was squarely in the center of the throng, soaking up the attention, and then I clicked the button from a distance.

The Harley coughed weakly and sputtered, the engine failing. My father soon lost his arrogant smile as he attempted to start it but the engine refused to start.

A handful of his friends chuckled under their breath as the whispers started to spread across the throng.

“Dad, need a hand?” When I came over to him, I inquired.

I could see the despair in his eyes as he scowled at me. Too shy to say anything, he just nodded. I knelt down and pretended to mess around with the bike for a bit before flipping off the switch to “fix” the issue.

Even if the engine screamed back to life, the harm had already been done.

My dad’s embarrassed expression made all the effort I had spent on the Harley worthwhile.

With his mouth gritted, he handed me the keys.