“And when Dad couldn’t afford groceries, you brought them. When he cried at night about Mom, you fixed our car so he could get to work. When I had no one to take me to the father-daughter dance, you went.”
“Any decent person—”
She pulled out her essay. The title: “Angels Wear Leather: How a Biker Saved My Family.”
I read it. Cried. This kid, this amazing kid, had documented every single thing. Every visit. Every bag of groceries. Every time I “just happened” to have extra dog food.
“Can I read one part out loud?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Mr. Bear taught me that family isn’t always blood. Sometimes family is a biker who finds your dying dog and decides that a seven-year-old’s tooth fairy money is worth more than gold. Sometimes family is someone who shows up every week for five years just to make sure you’re okay. Sometimes family is a man who keeps his promise to take care of your dog in heaven even though he doesn’t have to. Mr. Bear is my hero. My angel. My family.”
Tom walked in then. Read the essay over my shoulder.
“She’s right, you know,” he said. “You saved us. Not just Daisy. Us.”
“I just—”
Madison won the contest. Had to read it in front of the whole school. Three hundred kids. Their parents. Teachers.
I sat in the front row in my leather vest. Other bikers came too. Big Tom. Jake. Twenty brothers who’d heard the story.
Madison read her essay with clear voice. No shame. No hesitation. When she got to the part about the $7.43, parents were crying. When she talked about Daisy’s last day, teachers were crying. When she said “Mr. Bear taught me that heroes don’t wear capes, they wear leather,” my brothers stood and applauded.Continue reading…
