The little girl with the white bandage wrapped around her head looked up at me and said the words that destroyed me: “I don’t want a motorcycle ride. I want you to be my daddy for one whole day.”
I’m fifty-three years old, been riding with my club for twenty-seven years, and I’ve never had kids of my own. Never married, never settled down, always thought that part of life just wasn’t meant for me.
Her mother, Jennifer, had called our club three days earlier. Her voice was shaking on the phone. “My daughter has a brain tumor. She’s got maybe two months left. She loves motorcycles and she asked if a real biker could take her for a ride before… before she can’t anymore.”
Our club president had asked for volunteers. Every single one of us raised our hands. But Jennifer had picked me from the photos she’d seen. “Lily said he looks like he gives good hugs,” she’d told our president.
So there I was, walking into their small house expecting to take this little girl for a quick ride around the block. I’d done charity rides before, visited sick kids in hospitals, the whole thing. I thought I knew what to expect.
I had my Harley cleaned and polished, my vest freshly conditioned, and I’d even brought her a little pink helmet with butterflies on it.
But when I sat down next to her on the couch and asked if she was ready to go for a ride, Lily shook her head. “Can we just pretend instead?” she whispered.
“My head hurts too much today. The doctor said the tumor is making me dizzy. But Mommy told me you were coming and I didn’t want you to waste your time, so…” Her little voice trailed off.
“Can we pretend you’re my daddy? Just for today? I never had one before.”Continue reading…
