Bear lifts Tommy onto the bike, then steps aside as the other bikers begin revving their engines in unison. The sound is thunderous, but somehow comforting. It wraps around us like a cocoon of power and love.
Neighbors peek out from windows. Phones come out, filming, snapping pictures. But none of that matters to me. All I see is my boy, sitting proud on that bike, Jim’s restored helmet tucked into his lap.
At the school, kids stop in their tracks. Teachers walk out to the sidewalk, mouths agape. The principal steps forward, eyes wide behind her glasses.
Bear dismounts first, helping Tommy down like he’s made of glass and gold.
Then something incredible happens.
One by one, the bikers line up, forming a corridor between the parking lot and the school doors. They stand at attention, arms crossed or hands at their sides, forming a path of honor.
Tommy hesitates for only a moment before walking between them, the letter still clutched to his chest. Heads nod as he passes. One biker drops to a knee and gives him a tiny patch: a cartoon tiger riding a motorcycle, the name “Lil’ Road Warrior” stitched beneath it.
At the door, the principal kneels and opens her arms. “Welcome to kindergarten, Tommy. We’ve been waiting for you.”
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