Harley gave me a nod of approval. “Nice,” he said. “That girl’s cute.”

My cheeks burned. I tried to make a witty reply but all that came out was a gurgling sound.

Harley gave me a bump with his elbow. “Been there, man.” He started his bike, then handed me a helmet and motioned for me to climb on behind him.

“My mother won’t let me ride on your bike.”

“Don’t worry,” Harley replied. “Your father said you’d say that. He’s giving you one-time permission to ride with me.” He leaned close. “Just don’t tell your mother, okay?”

I grinned as I pulled on the helmet. “No problem.”

My first ride on a motorcycle would have been a lot more exciting if I hadn’t been sitting behind someone the size of the Jolly Green Giant. My view was limited to Harley’s leather jacket and whatever whizzed past my peripheral vision. Since we were traveling at roughly the speed of light, I wasn’t able to identify much. It didn’t help matters that the windchill kept dropping below zero despite it being a balmy spring day. A coat would have been a real help. I concentrated on sending blood flow to my fingers in the hope they wouldn’t snap off before we got there.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably not more than twenty minutes, we pulled into Harley’s farm. When I say farm, I mean a collection of buildings that at one time, probably shortly before the Civil War, had been used as a farm. Since then, they had been let go and appeared to be slowly returning to their natural state. The front porch had long ago separated from the main house and looked to be hitchhiking its way across the front lawn. The only building still holding up on its own was the barn. It sported a new roof and corrugated metal siding that looked downright modern. I couldn’t blame Harley for spending his money where it mattered most, the building that housed his motorcycle.

We rode up to the barn, and Harley shut off the engine. I climbed off and set to work massaging circulation back into the pile of goose bumps my body had become. My father hurried out of the barn with a grin the size of Harley’s mustache.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed.

His excitement, combined with the mysterious motorcycle ride, gave me the sneaking suspicion that whatever they were working on in the barn, I didn’t want to know about.

“Wait till you see what we’ve been up to,” he said, ushering me toward the barn door.

I could wait, really. Unless it was a warm blanket. My body still felt numb with cold from the ride.

As we drew near, my father stopped. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

“What you’re about to see is top secret. Understand? You can’t tell a soul, especially your mother.”

My instincts told me to run before it was too late. “Okay.”

With a flourish, my father pulled open the barn door. The interior was too dark for me to see anything. Cautiously, I stepped inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I recognized the trailer. But what exactly they had done with it I couldn’t tell.

“Behold,” my father said with the voice of a true showman. He flipped on the overhead lights.

I let out a gasp, not of awe, mind you. Before me stood a creation that looked like a child’s art project gone awry. I walked in a circle around the trailer trying to make sense out of what I was seeing. Scraps of old lumber, outdoor carpet, butcher paper, and a host of metal implements had been thrown together into what looked like a mobile torture chamber.

“Uh, what is it?” I asked.

“What is it, you say?” my father motioned like a game show host. “What is it? It’s a monument to what has made our family great.”

To be honest, the creation before me was doing little for my family pride.

He climbed onto the trailer and lifted his arms like a traveling evangelist. “What you see here is a parade float that brings together the past and the present. For three generations, the Truly name has stood for one thing—MEAT!” He stared out into the darkness, his arms still raised, like Zeus about to call lightning down from the heavens.

“It’s a meat float?” I asked.

My father stared down at me, looking a bit deflated. “Yes, that’s what I just said.” He raised his arms again, though without the same vigor. It was as if I had pricked a tiny pinhole in his balloon and the air was slowly leaking out. “Don’t you see? We’ve re-created the original Truly butcher shop.” He pointed to the implements hanging about. “See? These are meat hooks. Over here is a replica of my grandfather’s chopping block. And this here is the actual bucket he used for draining blood.”

My stomach began to churn, not just from the horror, but from the thought that my father believed he had created something spectacular. “Dad, you’re not actually going to enter this in the parade, are you?”

If my father had appeared to be leaking air before, he was spewing it out now like an untied balloon. “Of course we’re going to enter it in the parade! The town is filled with old-timers. They’re going to love it.” He hopped down off the float and pulled a box from underneath. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.” He lifted out what looked like a giant rib cage wearing women’s stockings. “This is your costume,” he said proudly.

I backed away. Whatever it was, it didn’t look dead yet. “What is that?”

My father forced the costume into my hands. “Weren’t you listening? It’s your costume. We’re all dressing up like a favorite cut of meat. You’re a half rack of ribs.”

My father had lost his mind. How could grown men have built something so crazy without anyone stating the obvious?

“I’m not wearing this,” I said, mimicking my mother’s eye roll.

“What do you mean?” my father shouted. “I thought you liked meat!”

“I do,” I shouted back. “I just don’t want to BE a piece of meat.”

Harley came up beside me. “No need to get yourself too worked up, little dude.”

I turned to find him in a costume that made him look like a three-hundred-pound ham hock. I had to admit seeing him that way was pretty darn funny.

“You’re seriously going to wear that in the parade?”

“People are going to love it.” He had a grin on his face that was irresistible. “And it’s going to give Truly Meats all the publicity your dad needs right now.”

I laughed, despite the voice in the back of my head warning me this would not end well.

“C’mon,” my father said, “you gotta admit we’re going to steal the show at this year’s parade.”

I looked again at Harley in his ham hock suit, then at the costume spilling over in my hands.

“Wait till you see this,” my father said. He held up what looked like a sixty-pound drumstick. “This is what your brother is going to wear.”

The idea of my brother dressed like a drumstick with the bone sticking out his butt brought a whole new dimension to the idea.

“You don’t want to miss out on this crazy ship, do you?” Harley asked.

“Couldn’t he be a fried chicken gizzard?” I threw out.

Harley and my father laughed. “No,” my father said. “Maybe next year.”

I held my costume up to get a better look. There were worse things than being a half rack of ribs. Like being a chicken leg, for instance. Or a ham hock. “What are you going to be?” I asked my father.

“Ah,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I still have a few surprises up my sleeve. You’ll see soon enough. You’ll see.”