That’s His Daughter Right There!
We’d only been home from our first Bike Week experience for 4 months when we tackled Sturgis, the largest Bike Week in the world. In 1987, this meant 63,000 bikers converged on the tiny town in South Dakota. (Today, Sturgis hosts more than 700,000.)
For me, this meant only one thing: Beer. 24/7. For a whole week!
But first, we had to get there. And before we could get there, we had to stop in Wisconsin for something Larry “needed to do.”
I had no idea what Larry would “need” in Wisconsin. Then we arrived at Larry’s ex-wife’s house, where Larry’s daughter also lived.
Karen Marie (named after her mom, Karen) was 19 years old.
I was 22.
I did not want to go in the house. I wanted to stand outside and smoke. I didn’t want to meet people, I didn’t want to meet these people. I didn’t want to meet his ex-wife who was probably really old. I didn’t want to meet his daughter who was definitely really young. I wouldn’t be able to relate to anyone or anything inside that house and I didn’t want to participate.
But there I was, stuck somewhere in Wisconsin with Larry, who gently insisted that I would, indeed, be going inside.
We arrived very late. The house was dark. The yard was dark. Everything felt even darker than it was. The room was wood-paneled, the furniture was floral-patterned, and the tables were heavy, dark wood. There were no windows.
I don’t remember where everyone else sat, but I threw myself on the floor. I didn’t get up to meet Larry’s former family. I barely glanced at Larry’s daughter who may have been very nice. I wouldn’t know.
Larry sat with Karen Marie and chatted on the couch while I sulked on the floor, ducking outside without a word to chain-smoke until I forced myself to go back inside and sit on the floor again. Occasionally their dog came to sit with me, which was comforting.
It seemed wrong for me to be there. I didn’t yet understand parenthood, except in my rebellion against my own. Nobody asked me anything. I was glad about that.
But it smelled funny in there. Everybody said “ain’t” as though it were an actual word. No one seemed to be surprised to see Larry, or angry that he hadn’t appeared sooner. Still, when Larry laughed, it seemed raucous. His voice felt extra loud.
I glanced now and then at Karen Marie. I had not realized until this moment that Larry was quite literally old enough to be my father. I knew he was almost the same age as my dad, and I knew that sometimes he acted more like my father than I would have liked, but I hadn’t realized how very literal it was that he was dating someone young enough to be his daughter.
See? I thought. That’s his daughter right there! Karen Marie was blonde and cute and – according to Larry later – “she looks just like her mom did at that age!”
I felt nauseous. The. Whole. Time.
After what seemed like a week but was probably a few hours, Larry and I walked back outside together and got on the Harley.
“Isn’t she great?” he asked rhetorically. “I knew you’d like her!”
I mumbled some form of agreement. Larry apparently hadn’t even noticed my discomfort. By ignoring my behavior, Larry realized I’d feel single-handedly like a jerk.
Or maybe Larry just hadn’t cared.
We spent a silent night at a cheap motel nearby. The next day, we rode into Sturgis.