We have written about the amazing Rose Cooper before. We loved how the community came together around her to replace a tire on her beloved motorcycle to get her back on the road, singing loudly and happily.
Earlier this week, a ninja friend alerted us a Facebook post by Rose that made our blood boil:
Dear person who put that “You need to stop all that ridiculous singing. Act your age.” note on my motorcycle this afternoon:
I’ve ridden in cold rain, in scorching sun…I’ve even ridden in snow. I’ve ridden by myself, and I’ve ridden with hundreds of my fellow bikers. I’ve ridden short trips around the block, and I’ve ridden from Michigan to Alaska…and back.
And all the while, I’ve sang while I ride. I know I don’t have the best voice; I don’t kid myself. And I don’t sing popular music. Because you can’t hear the party going on between my ears, I probably sound like a hot mess to you. I probably also look just as bad; especially these days, when my dreads go flying without a helmet to stop it. If I paused to think about it for a second, I’d probably realize that I *should* stop all that ridiculous singing. I’m sure I’ve offended dozens, even hundreds, of people in the Greater Lansing Area. Apparently, you’re one of the offended.
So ok, I look and sound goofy. And you’ve probably gotten quite the laugh. It’s ok; I’ve seen other people do the same thing. I can’t change that; I’m not even going to try. But before you put that note on my bike, did you ever stop to wonder WHY I might have to sing like I do? Did you know that my heart broke today? Did you know that I started out my ride in tears, and sung the pain away? Or yesterday: did you know that I was too cold because I forgot to wear a jacket; but when I started singing, I forgot about the cold? Or most days: do you know how scared, how terrified I am that someone on the road will look right through me, and turn my motorcycle into grotesque scrap metal…while I’m on it? And the only thing that keeps me sane is to sing my heart out?
I’m sorry, whomever you are, that I’ve bothered you so much that you felt the need to stop me. I wish I could explain to you that my intrusion on your space only takes a few minutes. By the time you realize I’m there, I’m usually gone. And it would probably be polite of me to just stop doing it, knowing that you’re out there, being bothered by my childishness.
But you can’t take my joy from me. I won’t let you. You’ll just have to forgive the interruption; I promise it won’t last long. And as soon as somebody can tell me what it’s like to “act my age”, I might try it. But not today.
The fact that someone took to the time to tell another person to NOT be happy is, frankly, appalling to us. So when we read that, we took our friend’s advice and tracked Rose’s bike down to put another note on it:
Here’s Rose’s post following her discovery:
I left work late today, only to find that someone put another note on my bike. You can imagine the expletive that I deleted. Then I saw my name on the envelope. Figuring that nobody’s that desperate to have their butt kicked, I opened the envelope to find this awesome work of art. All I can say is, I cry easily.
We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: We love you and your singing, Rose. Don’t let the turkeys get you down!
And that goes for the rest of you, too. Don’t let someone tell you not to be happy. They don’t get a vote.