47 Bikers Showed Up To Walk My Son To School After His Daddy Died

Bear knelt down, his massive frame folding until he was eye level with my son. “Sure is, little man. And he left you something special inside it. But here’s the thing – it only works if you’re brave enough to wear it to school. Think you can do that?”

Tommy bit his lip, a habit he’d picked up since Jim died. “Daddy said I wasn’t big enough for his helmet.”

“That was before,” Bear said softly. “Before you became the man of the house. Before you had to be brave for your mom. Your dad knew this day would come, and he made sure we’d be here for it.”

I watched in amazement as Bear carefully placed the helmet on Tommy’s small head. It should have been comically large, should have swallowed him whole. But somehow – maybe they’d added padding, maybe it was just the morning light – it looked almost right.

“I can’t see!” Tommy giggled, the first real laugh I’d heard from him in months.

Bear adjusted something inside, and suddenly Tommy gasped. “Mommy! Mommy, there’s pictures in here! Pictures of Daddy and me!”

My knees nearly buckled. Bear steadied me with one hand while explaining, “Jim had us install a small display in the visor. Solar-powered, triggered by movement. He’d been planning it as a surprise for Tommy’s 18th birthday, for when he’d be old enough to ride. But when the accident happened…” He cleared his throat. “We figured Tommy needed it now.”

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