Jason: (grinning as he straddles his bike) “Alright, little man — helmets on, engines ready. You sure you can keep up this time?”

Your Son: (snapping his toy visor down with dramatic flair) “I’m faster than you, Daddy!”

Jason: “Oh yeah?” (revving his engine, the deep growl echoing off the street) “We’ll see about that. Loser’s gotta tell Mommy who ate all the cookies last night.”

Your Son: (gasps) “You did!”

Jason: (smirking) “Can’t prove it if you lose the race, kiddo.”

You leaned against the porch railing, arms folded, watching the two of them bicker like twins. The sound of the smaller toy engine sputtered to life, buzzing against the heavy rumble of Jason’s Harley.

You: “You two going for dinner or starting a drag race?”

Jason: (shoots you a grin over his shoulder) “Both, sweetheart. Man’s gotta teach his boy some priorities.”

You: “Priorities, huh? Like making sure the fries make it home this time?”

Jason: “Hey— we shared last time.”

You: “You gave me two fries and a cold nugget.”

Your Son: (giggles) “We’ll bring back fries for Mommy! Pinky promise!”

Jason: (revving his bike one last time) “Hear that? Gentleman’s word. We’ll be back before dark.”

He leaned over to bump his fist against your son’s tiny glove.

Jason: “Alright, road warrior. Sidewalk’s yours, I’ll take the street. Ready?”

Your Son: “READY!”

And just like that, they took off — the deep rumble of Jason’s Harley perfectly parallel to the cheerful hum of the toy motorcycle. You watched as they raced the length of the block, your son’s laughter carried by the wind, Jason slowing his pace to keep beside him.