My Father Took Back the Motorcycle He Gifted Me after I Restored It, So I Got My Revenge
Seth’s eighteenth birthday came and went without a word from his parents—no cake, no cards, no visits to his dorm room. Though he tried to brush it off, the lack of acknowledgment hurt more than he cared to admit.
The next morning, his father called him over to their house. “I’ve got something for you, Seth,” he said, handing him a set of keys. Seth caught them, puzzled. “What’s this for?” he asked, noting they weren’t car keys and that he already had his mom’s old car.
His father pointed to a dusty tarp in the garage. Underneath was Seth’s childhood dream: his father’s old Harley-Davidson ’73 Shovelhead. It was the bike Seth had always longed to touch, despite his father’s strict warnings against it.
“You’re giving me the Harley?” Seth asked, excitement mingling with disbelief.
“Yeah, why not?” his father shrugged. “It hasn’t run in years, so good luck with that. Consider it a late birthday gift.”
Thrilled, Seth accepted the bike and threw himself into a motorcycle restoration project. He saved every penny from his barista job and spent countless hours rebuilding the Harley from the ground up. After fourteen months of hard work, the bike was a gleaming masterpiece.
Eager to show his parents, Seth rode the Harley to their house. He felt a rush of nerves as he parked and called out to them. When they saw the restored motorcycle, his father’s initial reaction was one of awe. “Is that my old Harley? She looks incredible!”
Seth beamed, “I’ve spent the last year on this project. What do you think?”
His father’s admiration quickly turned to cold calculation. “This bike is worth a lot more now. I think I was too generous when I gave it to you. I’m taking it back and will give you $1,000 for your trouble.”
Seth was stunned. “Are you serious?” he asked, barely containing his anger. His father’s stubbornness left no room for argument.
“Sure,” Seth said, trying to mask his frustration. But he had his own plans for revenge.
A few days later, he noticed his father bragging on social media about his “newly restored” motorcycle and planned to take it to a bike meet. Seth saw this as an opportunity. On the day of the meet, he watched from a distance as his father proudly showcased the Harley.
Unknown to his father, Seth had installed a small switch under the seat—a precautionary measure to cut off the fuel line if needed. With the remote control in hand, Seth waited until his father was in the middle of the crowd and pressed the button.
The Harley sputtered and died. Seth’s father, trying in vain to restart it, became the center of whispered laughter from the crowd. “Need a hand, Dad?” Seth asked, approaching with a feigned look of concern.
His father, humiliated and desperate, nodded silently. Seth pretended to fix the bike by turning off the switch, allowing the engine to roar back to life. The look of embarrassment on his father’s face was priceless.
Handing over the keys, his father said curtly, “It’s yours.” As his father walked away, Seth smiled, knowing that both the Harley and a semblance of respect were his—if only grudgingly.