AUG 10, 2009 – 12:00AM

I love my son dearly.

But when it comes to art, he has a way to go.

His sense of perspective is all wrong, his use of color elementary at best.

But I love him, so when he scribbles out another masterpiece, I dutifully display it at the office or on the fridge. That’s what dads do.

Similarly, when he hands me a Lego creation, I try to overlook his misplaced load-bearing beams, flawed cornices and awkward mix of Doric and Ionic columns. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be the minifig living in one of his mansions. But, flawed though it may be, his Lego constructions go on display until he raids them for parts for his next mini Taj Mahal.

I’m thinking, however, I have to draw the line somewhere.

The other day, I rode home from work and found that my kids had rooted around the garage until they found a package of spoke beads — basically, brightly colored plastic balls you’re supposed to snap onto your bike spokes. They add a little bling and clack against each other as you ride, at least at slow speeds.

As soon as I rolled in the driveway, my son proudly showed off his colorful display of beads and handed me one for my bike.

I figured I’d give it a try. Heck, it might even make me look quirky and cool — as if riding a bike doesn’t do that already — so I snapped the bright yellow bead on my front wheel.

Later that night, as I rolled the bike out for my return to work, I was reminded of the bead when I heard a strange pinging sound with every revolution. Once I got over about 2.4 mph — a stretch for me, but I managed — the sound went away.

The bead reminded me of my own childhood attempts to decorate my spokes.

I fondly recalled colorful plastic sleeves — basically, thin straws — I put on one bike. Every time I rode to school, a few more disappeared until none remained. I was very sad.

I never did put baseball cards in the spokes like some other kids did, though I was amused last summer when I noticed a strange sound around the ‘hood, reminiscent of a couple of grizzlies getting amorous. Turns out it was a neighbor kid with his hi-tech card in the spokes — a battery powered megaphone around a plastic card meant to sound like an old clothes-pinned baseball card.

Normally, though, I don’t go in for bike bling.

For a long time, I did have a bracelet my daughter made of candy-striped paperclips around the handlebars. It was on there for years, but a couple of months ago I noticed it was missing. Again I was sad.

That was it for the bike decorations until the bead.

I pretty much forget all about it until I hit even the slightest bump. Then it rattles around, interrupting my reverie and making me think I’ve broken a spoke. Then I forget about it again, hit a bump, think I’ve broken a spoke. Happens every time, dozens of times per ride. (I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed.)

So I’m thinking the spoke bead has to go. I’m all for quirky and cool, but the constant fear of broken spokes is ruining my riding ruminations. And I already have enough heavy thoughts on my mind, like, How am I going to break it to my boy that maybe art and architecture aren’t in his future?