A story about your Dad’s life..

[Huzo]

I’m reminded of my Dad today, he’s been gone 23 years and Mum joined him a couple of years back.
This weekend I’m going with my young bloke Christopher for a weekend ride, him on his BMW R 1200 GS and me on my V85 trail bike.
We are going to a cooler location on the Southern Coast, partly to escape the Northern 90 deg F heat and for another deeper seated reason.

In 1973 I was 15 years old and Dad had a T500 Suzuki Titan.
An exact replica of this one.


He decided on a whim to head off with me on what I now see was a largely underprepared and underfunded trip. We headed off two up on the Spewzuki and must have looked for all the world like the Beverly Hillbillies, rollicking off down the road in a cloud of blue two stroke with pots, pans and kerosine lanterns hanging off the bike.
I was wedged in the scant remaining space between Dad and the rear mountain of luggage “secured” by rope of all things, because we had no bungee cords.
The day was pleasant enough and although we did not have a tent, Dad had procured a rubberised ground sheet about 8’x4’ that was sure to ward off any adverse weather that the Southern Ocean in late Autumn may throw at us..
Late afternoon rolled around and we stopped on the outskirts of a small seaside town called Nelson, on the South Coast. There were no established facilities and the wind was on shore from the southwest...Not good.
By the time we had heated the tinned stew and hot tea on the makeshift fire, darkness was looming and the cold wind began to build. I could see a measure of concern on Dad’s face and although he was a man who I thought feared nothing, he looked to the South with a degree of tension.
Under instruction I gathered up armfuls of seaside brush and built a windbreak whilst Dad scooped sand on top, which formed a very effective barrier to the elements and with the wind diverted somewhat, the cold abated....
For now.
But darkness fell and although I knew he had done as much as he could for my protection, he would not have the benefit of enough cover for us both.
Now being 15 years old, I was starting to realise that although under his protection, I was growing mentally to the point where I wanted to share the burden of discomfort to some extent, but I knew Dad’s welfare would be sacrificed to ensure mine..
It did not sit well inside me.
By 10 pm it was very cold and I was unable to sleep, with the groundsheet flapping in the wind and the guilt of knowing that Dad had virtually no protection. Also at my age, I did not feel uncomfortable in close proximity, but in that exact situation I felt a little awkward and I’m sure he knew it.
I knew if I could get warmer in my exhausted state I could sleep, but there seemed no way to improve things under the circumstances.
Still, in the chill and absolute dark, Dad asked if I wanted to move closer and pull the covering over, at that age I was gripped by the conflicting emotions of being freezing cold and huddling together with another male, father or otherwise, but the decision was taken from me as in the absolute dark he said...
“Come a bit closer and warm up..”
I will admit that although he was as warm as my favourite blanket, I held some fears that it was not something I wanted anyone else to know.
As sleep began to claim me, I was now comfortable and as if he knew my dilemma, his words came out of the dark..
“Don’t worry Pete, I won’t tell your mates..”
I understand how many jokes this story could produce, but back then it was a nice moment for me and a beautiful morning came around with glass calm and warming sun.
Dad never recounted the events and I’m not sure I ever did with him, but that series of events was about the last time I can recall being protected as a child and while knowing I was leaving that behind, was content to feel the love and care that a fortunate son receives....

Now we are on expensive machines, with wallets that are bulky and uncomfortable to sit on.
Plastic cards that will give us a motel room with hot showers and hearty meals.
Mobile phones if things go wrong...
But did things really go “wrong” on the Southern Coast of Australia in the early seventies, as I was leaving the last few threads of childhood behind ?
I’ve got more now than I’ve ever had, but there are some things that were free then but I can’t buy today..”
I hope he can see us from where he is..

[bad Chad]

Huzo, that’s a wonderful memory, thanks for sharing it with us.

[Huzo]

Huzo, that’s a wonderful memory, thanks for sharing it with us.

Thanks mate.
Had to stop a couple of times due to humidity...(glasses misted up.,)
We’ve come a long way...in some respects.


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[Dave Swanson]

That was a great story!  Thanks much for sharing it. 

[lucian]

Great memory of  you and your Dad. I'm sure he would be proud of you for sharing it and wording it so eloquently.  You  have a tremendous talent for putting thoughts into writing.   Well done.

[guzzler]

My own glasses got a bit foggy there too mate!
A great memory eh!
Cheers Guzzler

[GeorgiaGuzzi]

Thanks for sharing a wonderful example of what fatherhood should be like.

[Guzzi Gal]

-sniff- -sniff-

[Markcarovilli]

Nicely told and enjoy your time with your boy so he may someday pay it forward....

Mark

[v85lover]

You may know him has "huzo" but i know him as dad

my Father and I have always been close, Ive never felt awkward about giving him a big hug or a kiss in front of the family, friends or even the school bullies
my Dads (Huzo) Father or Pop as i knew him by was a bit of a hard ass but was great with us grandkids i remember walking in to that hazy smoke filled kitchen while he smoked his pipe and all went over and gave him a hug god forbid he would actually get up and come to us lol, it seems dad got it a little easier than his four sisters for example getting a kit formed SL70 for Dad and pop to assemble
Dad taught me many lessons while i grew up that id like to keep personal as those stories are close to my heart but my whole point is even though dad had a bit of hard upbringing dad never gave me a hard time
and never made it hard to tell the truth as it would be treated as a lesson and not just a screaming match

i love you dad x

[Ncdan]

That’s cool guys👍

[SIR REAL ED]

Great tale Huzo.  Wish I had some similar tales to tell.

Good to know Huzo 2.0 is a chip off the old block.

Anyone who owned a Yamaha Seca 650, must have been a person of outstanding character.

[Scout63]

Thanks Huzo.  I needed that story.

[PJPR01]

Very touching story, and told with unabashed affection...kudos to you Huzo. 

I think many of us had Dads who were at times hard, abrasive, volcanic, rough and despite their inability at times to be as outwardly affectionate as one would like, still felt it inside and occasionally showed it as well.

The adventure lives on in the next generation, and the next...and hopefully the rough spots get diluted with each passing generation, and the good stuff multiplies!

Here's to many more memories and adventures...RIP as well to my old man, now gone 14 years, and I'm sure fomenting trouble with a smile and a mischievous grin for someone wherever he might be roaming around! 

[oldbike54]

 No jokes forthcoming from us it seems , for good reason . Nice story Peter 

 Dusty

[bikeridertim]

Thank you for that to you both!

[Tkelly]

Great story,reminded me of taking my 13 year old son on My California ITo Yellowstone in 03.He got youngest rider award at Wisconsin rally in 06 and took a few more big trips with me until he hit a deer in 2011 ,survived but decided to quit while he was ahead.My older son also rode with me and got youngest rider at the 2010 Oregon national.He still rides but limits it to local trips as he is now married and his wife is expecting.Nothing like those memories.Enjoy your trip boys.

[Huzo]

Thanks mate.
I’ll throw some stuff on the bike soon. Leaving in the morning.

[skippy]

I doubt I can tell as elegant of a story about my Dad but I will throw one out there anyway.

My Dad was the first motorcyclist in the family. And when I say "family" I mean the entire family. Going all the way back to Adam and Eve.
As a young man, long before me or any of my siblings came along, before even my own mother was in the picture, my Dad had gotten involved in motorcycles. I think his first bike was a Honda 305 Dream he had gotten right out of high school which quickly got upgraded with Super Hawk heads when he went off to technical school in Southern California. He has told me many a story of him and some buddies from school racing around the streets of Venice Beach and Santa Monica.

Well, as it happens, he met my Mom out there in California and ended up coming back home to Colorado with his new love and got serious about getting on with life. He took a job with the Union Carpenter's, (my Grandpa was a big deal Superintendent back then, having built most of the Denver skyline) and bought a new house, started a family. All the while he got into Harley Davidson's in a big way. (Union guy's wouldn't ride anything else back then in the U.S.)
 He and a buddy of his had a kind of race team co-op thing going on. My Dad built his Sportster up for drag racing and his buddy built his up for road racing. They would help each other out at the track on race day's but more importantly they would swap tires with each other. My Dad's bike only really wore out the centers and his buddy only tore up the rest of the tires.
 
I remember this time well, though I was only about 5-6 years old.
 With that good union wage there was meat and potatoes every night. Dad and his buddy were always out in the garage working on the bikes and my older brother and I were always in the middle of it.
 Dad had a lot of success on the track being the quickest/fastest 1/4 mile bike in the state for his class. His buddy also had really good success with his bike in the endurance series which allowed for some pretty radical modification. And his bike was modified! Twin carb heads custom made and other such bits.
 All of that success came to close though, for my Dad at least, in the late 70's. Dad said he couldn't compete with the new machines coming out of Japan. He said he gave it up when a kid on a bone stock H2 Triple that cost $1800 out the door gave him a serious run for his money on his $30000 Harley he decided to give up on the Harley.
So, as the story goes, he sold the Harley and bought two Suzuki's and a house. Not entirely true but close. The fact is he did sell the Harley and that new house he and my Mom had and moved way up north to a little ass town. Cashing in on a ton of equity in both to pull off the whole thing. He also made a huge career move also by getting out of construction and getting into real estate. The two Suzuki's he got where GS1000's, one was an E and the other was an S. (The S being the venerable Wes Cooley Replica!)
Dad had gotten my brother and I all amped up with the promise of getting us a pair of Suzuki dirt bikes. We were ecstatic. He got us these cool t-shirts from the dealer. Red with blue sleeves and a big Suzuki S right in the middle of the chest. His buddies were always around the house on weekends hanging out in the garage building bikes and smoking cigarettes all the while filling my little head with cool stories about racing and riding and such. All was grand until Mom caught wind of this motorcycle promise. Once Mom found out Dad was planning on getting her dear boy's motorcycle's..... Well nothing came of it. They quietly agreed not to bring it up again. And that was that.
Dad and his buddies still hung out in the garage and I was always in the thick of it. But nothing ever came of me and my brother getting our own bikes. As it turned out, getting out of construction and in to real estate was a bad idea in the early 80's. I don't think anyone was doing all that well in the 80's. No one I knew of anyway. The steak and potato dinners where replaced with Ramon Noodle, Mac-n-cheese, and balogne. Dad's friends quit coming around. Not for a lack of interest but only because they all had moved on as well. Times were tough, but I really didn't know. I was just a kid. I look back now and see that it was a tough situation.
My Dad wrecked the GS1000E in 84 but kept it in the garage for spares until he sold both bikes in 98.
All during the 80's money was pretty tight in my family. My parents really squeezed every penny out of every dollar. All the while my dad still rode. Just not as often as he would have liked, and not as far. But how long can a devout motorcyclist stay out of the saddle and keep one's sanity? My Dad would set aside 10 days every September for one big ass, glorious road trip.
 
I distinctly remember helping him prep his GS1000S for his 89 trip. I was a skinny ass 15 year old kid, barley 120 lbs. and 6'. My Dad was also about 120 lbs. and only 5'10". He either couldn't afford to have a shop shod up a set of tires or wouldn't part ways with his hard earned cash. Either way I was out in the garage wrestling tire irons and spooning up a set of brutal ass bias-ply tires with him. Afterwords he went to start the bike and it ran out of juice. He had me push him around the neighborhood to bump-start it. I realize now he probably didn't have the funds for a new battery. I ended up pushing him over a half mile away from the house before we finally got enough spark to fire the dang thing off.
Now this is where my true love affair with motorcycles began. Up to this point in my life I had never really been on a motorcycle. I mean really. Way back when, when I was a toddler, my Dad would hold me around the waist and piddle around the block on that old Sportster he had. But now I am a 15 year old kid standing on the side of the road a half mile away from the house exhausted as all get out from pushing this, now rumbling Suzuki.
My Dad looked at my tired and worn out face and said, "Get on, I'll take you home. But don't say a word of it to your Mom!"
I stood there stunned for a moment trying to process what he just said.
But when I finally realized what he actually said, "Get on!" I threw a leg over the seat and settled in.
 
Now this is where Huzo's story struck a cord with me. In that very instant, I too became aware of the awkwardness of being a newly minted young man in close proximity with an other man. Father/son or otherwise.
 But that awkwardness went away as soon as my father clicked the bike down into gear and my mind was blown by the overwhelming experience of sound and jostling G-force acceleration, the smell of hot metal, the sweetness of fuel, rubber, and oil all mixing in by teenage skull. And before I knew what was what, we were home.

Well, That was thirty some-odd years ago now and My Dad and I have enjoyed living and breathing motorcycling, and everything else life has brought together, ever since.
I can't even imagine all of the other little side stories I could go off on just on what I talked about here, let alone all the other stuff I left out. But, suffice it to say my father and I have had a long motorcycling life together and I am very grateful.
 He and my Mom split up years ago and each have remarried. They both live about a mile from me in different directions. My Mom still does not approve of me riding motorcycles and we agree not to talk about it all the while my Dad and I enjoy riding and wrenching together often, though not as often as I would really like.

Skippy

P.S.
I want to thank Huzo for starting this thread. It really sent me down a path of reflection and contemplation. If you and your son ever feel compelled to come state side and happen to find your way to Colorado I am sure my Dad and I can find the time to show you two some great roads.   
         

[Scout63]

Thanks Huzo for starting this.  My father story occurred last Saturday.  I picked up a tired v50ii last Spring, and my 20yo daughter mentioned that she liked the color.  That was all I needed to tear it down to the crank and make it right:


q
Over the past few weeks we would sneak outside and I would give her lessons.  The first day was just getting on and putting it off and on the side stand.  The second lesson was starting the bike.  The third was feeling the clutch engage and disengage.  We worked up to last Saturday when she rode the bike .6 miles around the block in first gear with me jogging alongside.  Then we put it away and she is done with motorcycles. We are both thrilled that she now can say she can ride a bike, and we are both happy that she is not going any further with it. I can’t live without motorcycles, but they are after all just machines.  Our children and our parents are everything.

[pebra]

Thanks Huzo, Skippy -

Touching, yet enjoyable.

[Huzo]

There are a hundred ways you can tell the same story and a hundred stories you can tell the same way..
This relates to a much earlier time..
Back around 1963 I was about 5 years old and the home I lived in was and still is, on the edge of a field about 350 metres square.
Our place is midway between the two corners on the Northern (top), edge.



Now Mr Marriot who was a gruff and largely unapproachable man, lived alone on the South edge of the field and it  was perpetually covered in 1 metre high grass. On this particular day, Dad had come home from work for lunch and I asked if I could take my kite out to fly, because the wind was from the North and it seemed like a really good idea. Dad said..’”It’s gonna be the same tomorrow and I’ll be home, so we’ll take it out then..Don’t take it out when I’m not here...”
Such directions as these were non negotiable and you disobeyed them at your peril....!
But...?
For reasons that to this day I cannot fathom, I decided after Dad went back to work that a “ little hop” couldn’t do too much harm..
Could it..?..
I mean if it’s good enough for the Spruce Goose and his surname was Hughes, like mine..What could possibly go wrong..?

So later I snuck out past the kitchen window, carrying the kite above my head toward the South edge of the field and placed it in the grass with my coat on top. I trudged back to the North edge while unwinding the string and secured it to a tree that was handily located for just that purpose..
Surely this was a sign....!
Making my way back to the kite I tensioned the string, held the kite appropriately for take off into the wind and felt it wrench free from my grasp and rocket skywards to become a tiny point of amazement, seemingly against the clouds..
The thrill of seeing my flying machine break free from the surly bonds of Earth was equally exciting as any 10 knot thermal that I was destined to experience in a glass fibre sailplane, but the thrill was short lived...
As if to smite me for my disobedience, the Gods decreed that my flight be cut short and just as I thought my excitement level could rise no higher...?
The string broke and I was aghast to see my craft descending in a series of swaying, spiralling swoops towards Mr Marriott’s T.V. antenna...(remember him...?).. The kite impacted his T.V. antenna at about Mach 1.2...
As my heart sank with the kite, my panic rose at the same rate...
It was as if his antenna was the worlds largest electro magnet and my flying machine was solid iron, because their destinies were linked.

I ran back home crying in desperation and pleaded with Mum if she could ask Mr Marriot to get my kite down before Dad got home, but Mum said..
“No get to buggery I’m cooking tea, your Dad’ll be home soon...” 
I nervously sat in the lounge and sure enough Dad came home about half an hour later.
I heard Mum speaking in a hushed tone..(blah, blah, blah..)...PETER...!..(blah, blah, blah..).
“DID HE”..!!!
 Said Dad...
“PETER..! GET OUT HERE...!”
I was grilled mercilessly as to why I willfully disobeyed a simple directive and although I’m sure Dad thought my tears were from fear, they were born of disappointment that I had betrayed his trust and gone behind his back, he had a way of making you feel bad for letting him down..
I asked if there was a way I could make things right by myself, because I had caused this...

Now, I was too young to understand the difference between brooding anger and respect on Dad’s face, but by the end of the following day, I would have learned...I had to get through the night first.
The sour taste of regret never sits well on your palate, I went off to bed to lay awake and ponder how to make things right. The last thing I remember was rolling over on the damp pillow and waiting for sleep to claim me...
I didn’t know it at the time, but a plan was being hatched ...
(To be continued...)

[SIR REAL ED]

Huzo,

If you are taking requests, I'd like to hear some stories about your Dad and his Seca 650......

good stuff.  Sounds like being your father's son was a stroke of good fortune.

[Huzo]

Huzo,

If you are taking requests, I'd like to hear some stories about your Dad and his Seca 650......

good stuff.  Sounds like being your father's son was a stroke of good fortune.

Nothing much ever went wrong on the Yammie S.R.E.
The Kawasaki 500 triple two stroke, was a different matter though. Even in print it sounds and looks dangerous.

[Huzo]

(...moving  on from yesterday’s exciting episode. ).

The following morning arrived and as predicted and was windy like the day before.
I got up and knocked on Mum and Dad’s bedroom door and was told to come in and sit on the bed for a “talk..” Dad’s face seemed softer than last night and he gave me a set of instructions.
“Go out the back, get the ladder and take it to Mr Marriott’s house, ask him if you can please get your kite down if he’s not too busy and use your bloody manners...”
Feeling that I was beginning to take action to work on my problem, I felt a bit lighter and out the back I went.
The ladder was not particularly large as ladders go, but about as much as I could handle at that age and I grasped the end rung and started dragging it behind as I headed off across the field. I cannot recall how many times I had to stop on the way to rest, but after what seemed like an eternity I arrived at Mr Marriott’s house.
He had just finished mowing the grass and was scooping up the rows into a trailer, Dad’s prediction about him being busy was not too far off...(lucky guess I suppose..)
I approached him and looking up at this intimidating figure, said that I had “crashed my kite into his antenna and if he was not too busy , could I please get it down, I have brought Dad’s ladder..”
We went down the driveway and Mr Marriott said..
“Leave your ladder here and use this one..”
As luck would have it, his ladder was leaning on the wall near the back door and as I looked up, the rungs seemed to go on forever.
My 6’ ladder would have been way too short..(strange that Dad made that mistake, it seemed I had dragged it all that way for nothing..)
Oh well, at least it was my sins I was paying for...
I was scared but went up the ladder and retrieved the remains of my kite that had been destroyed by last night’s tempest and thanked Mr Marriott for his help. He never said much, just glanced at me and resumed scooping up the freshly mown grass.
“Off you go lad, I’ve got a lot to do here..”
“Can I help ? “
I asked..
“If you like..” he said, (while sitting down in the shade to watch.)
After scooping up all of the the grass on my own, I again thanked Mr Marriott for his “help” and went to leave, he pressed a couple of coins into my green hands and shook them nicely.
“It’s ok, I don’t need to have any money..”
I said
“You take it”
 said Mr Marriot
“You might need to buy something..”
With that he sent me off home, dragging the ladder I didn’t use... (I wondered why Dad made me take it..)
Dad met me half way across the field on my way home during a rest from dragging the ladder and I thought I was in trouble for taking too long, but he picked up the ladder himself and carried it because he said  he, “didn’t want me wrecking it”.
I thought things were still not completely ok, because he would not look directly at me, but he held my hand the rest of the way home and I felt I could reach it a little easier than yesterday...

That morning we set about building a new kite, but Dad said that this one needed better wood and stronger string. I didn’t have either and thought that we might be able to go to the hardware store because I had some money that Mr Marriott had given to me..
“Yeah..?”
Said Dad, feigning surprise (although at the time I thought it genuine..)
“Why did he give you the money..?”
“ Because I gathered up the grass from his mowing, here you are..”
I took the coins from my pocket and gleefully put them in Dad’s creased hand and as he took them, he held on longer than necessary...
“Come on mate, we’ve got a job to do..”
“Should I wash my hands ? “
“ They are clean enough mate..”


We went to the store and with the “help” of my contribution, bought a ball of strong red twine and when we got back, Dad took two pieces of freshly sawn wood from his prized stock and we set about to rebuild.
I thought he was not happy with me because he did not help much with the construction, but instead sat and watched me do it myself, with some cajoling in the right direction.
Fair to say that it was not as handsome as the first one and not exactly as well formed or symmetrical, but clearly passed pre flight inspection.
Dad said it was ..”as solid as a brick shithouse..” 

We went out for the maiden flight and with the wind still in the North as predicted, I began the trudge across the field of long grass, it seemed a little bit shorter than yesterday  but not possible I guess, I couldn’t have grown overnight...
Now normally Dad would have taken the controls on such an important phase of a test flight, but as I went to hand him the huge ball of twine he said..
“You do it this time mate.. I’ll do the walk, tell me how far.
I think it was not only the string he passed to me.
The kite shot straight up to maximum height like yesterday and the pull on the string felt immense to me. I asked Dad did he think the string would break, but he told me everything had more integrity than yesterday’s model and we discussed the benefits of that over a post flight drink, on the back steps.
Normally I would make Dad’s cup of tea..
But this time he made mine...
Oh by the way.
Normally it takes forever to get the stain of freshly mown grass off your hands but I didn’t wash them, I liked the way they looked in that colour...

[Rough Edge racing]

 I have no wonderful father son stories ...My dad was a nice guy but we were distant...He had no interest in bkes but like to drive fast at times..He excelled in sports, triple A baseball, semi pro football, boxing ,ranked amatuer golfer. I was  not good at sports and dad was disappointed although he said nothing.
 This photo was taken in 1936, my dad in the middle, his best friend on the left and his cousin on the left. The cousin was a made Mafia guy,my father knew all the mobsters but keep out of their business, My father and his friend just graduated college...they were sharp dressers for the time period..
       

[SIR REAL ED]

I have no wonderful father son stories ...

My childhood was somewhat similar.  After he passed, my two older brothers were cleaning out his place.  One asked "Do you have any good memories of Dad?"  After a moment of reflection the other brother replied "No...."

Probably why I appreciate these kinds of stories.

My father had some mental disorders, and always thought his sons to be an undeserved burden, and on more than a few occasions he told us so in not so many words.  He imparted some valuable life lessons, but there was never any kindness or appreciation.

But luckily, his friends, employees, business partner and our neighbors were men of character with excellent senses of humor.  Many good memories of working with them, and seeing them stick up for us in the face of my father's relentless insults/criticism and outbursts of his violent hair trigger temper.

Sometime when I have a few moments, I'll share a couple that always make me smile.

The plus side is as they say "You can learn a lot from a bad example.  Like how not to treat other people."

Also, a bit of adversity in your youth creates a wicked sense of humor!!!

[Huzo]

My childhood was somewhat similar.  After he passed, my two older brothers were cleaning out his place.  One asked "Do you have any good memories of Dad?"  After a moment of reflection the other brother replied "No...."

Probably why I appreciate these kinds of stories.

My father had some mental disorders, and always thought his sons to be an undeserved burden, and on more than a few occasions he told us so in not so many words.  He imparted some valuable life lessons, but there was never any kindness or appreciation.

But luckily, his friends, employees, business partner and our neighbors were men of character with excellent senses of humor.  Many good memories of working with them, and seeing them stick up for us in the face of my father's relentless criticism and violent hair trigger temper.

Sometime when I have a few moments, I'll share a couple that always make me smile.

The plus side is as they say "You can learn a lot from a bad example.  Like how not to treat other people."

Also, a bit of adversity in your youth creates a wicked sense of humor!!!

Yes.
Sometimes they teach you more when they’re not trying.

[Huzo]

Thank you to you Skippy, for the offer.
If I find myself in the ‘States, I’ll be in touch..

[Huzo]

Although I understand it can go either way, the abused can become the abuser.
If it’s any consolation, your memory of unfair treatment has made you tolerant of others such that they won’t feel the same sting as you.
Do you think that you wanted to enter law enforcement so as to be able to make some inroads into correcting bad behaviour ? Moreover, it’s a commentary on you that you don’t harbour any jealousy towards those that have had the fortune that you were cruelly denied. As a Cop, there’s no doubt you have faced and coped with intimidating types and I’m sure you could have indulged in retribution of some sort in later life, but even now your comments are tinged with pity.
You seem to carry the memory but not the hate....