Only my parents can do that.
According to my parents, I had an obsession with technology from my early childhood, but then I was breaking everything I could break.
I especially liked to take apart an old record-player or the radio set that my dad used to secretly leave in my bed so I wouldn’t disturb him working at home.
I’d sit in bed for hours, sniffling and tinkering with the appliance until I took it apart. The interesting thing is, I have no idea now how I did it. Then my dad would take it away from me, assembly it back to the pristine state, leave it on my bed, and everything would repeat again.
Later they started buying toys that matched my age, and I began to take them apart, but unfortunately, my parents were not able to put them back together.
One of my favorite activities at the time was riding a motorcycle.
Dad wasn’t quite that excited and didn’t support me in my addiction because, unfortunately, he played the role of a motorcycle himself.
For me, it looked simple enough.
I asked my dad to lie on his back (and not necessarily on the bed, it could have been on the floor), his stomach was my saddle, his hands were the exhaust pipes. The thing I liked the most was starting the engine, so it kept dying down.
Unfortunately for my dad, I imagined the starter being on his side ribs.
Yeah, I forgot, I had to turn on the ignition beforehand, you’ll never guess, but it was dad’s nose.
My extreme motorcycle racing looked like this: I’d put dad lying in a motorcycle position, straddle on top of him on his stomach, twisted his nose, and (that was the culmination) I’d get up a little bit and kicked with my heel on his ribs and try to “start him up”.
Around the fifth attempt (sometimes there were more attempts, but never less, as I enjoyed with this process), I still started the motorcycle.
Next, there were two ways to continue.
The first scenario was that it died down at once and everything was happening again, and the second scenario was that I rode it, but not for long.
And it could not be called just “riding”, it was a crazy race on a very, very rough road. It was really tense for Dad because I was actually hopping on his stomach.
Unexpectedly, not for me, but for dad, it stopped, the engine was dead. But there was no relief for him. Everything started over. I loved riding.