o younger inmates. Did everything I could to prove I was ready to be a father.
Thomas was there when I walked out those gates. Destiny was in his arms. She was four years old. I’d never held her. Never touched her. Only seen her through glass and screens.
I dropped to my knees and caught her. Held her for the first time. Felt her little arms wrap around my neck. Felt her breath against my ear. Heard her whisper “Daddy’s home.”
I cried. Thomas cried. Half the motorcycle club was there and they all cried too. These massive men in leather vests, sobbing in a prison parking lot because a father was finally holding his daughter.
We lived with Thomas for the first three months. He wanted to make sure the transition was smooth. Wanted to make sure Destiny felt safe. Wanted to make sure I was really ready.
I’m working now. Got a job through a reentry program. Saving money. Taking parenting classes. Doing everything right.
Destiny still calls Thomas “Papa Thomas.” Still sees him every weekend. He’s not going anywhere. He’s family now. Real family.
Last month, Thomas showed me something. A worn photograph of a little boy. Mixed race. Maybe three years old.
“This is my son,” he said quietly. “This is the only picture I have. The last one before I lost him.”
I looked at the photo. At the date on the back. Did the math.
He nodded. Tears in his eyes. “I’ve looked for him for thirty years. Never found him. But I know he’s out there somewhere. And I hope—” His voice broke. “I hope someone took care of him like I’m taking care of Destiny. I hope someone made sure he knew his father loved him even if his father couldn’t be there.”
I hugged this old man who’d saved my daughter. This biker who’d sat with my dying wife. This stranger who’d become my family.
“You’re a good man, Thomas. Whatever happened back then, you’re a good man now.”
“I’m trying to be,” he whispered. “Every day, I’m trying to be.”
Destiny is five now. She starts kindergarten next month. Thomas bought her a backpack covered in butterflies because butterflies are her favorite.
Every night, I tuck her in and tell her the story of how Papa Thomas saved her. How a scary-looking biker with a leather vest and a long beard made a promise to her mama. How he kept that promise every single week for three years.
“Papa Thomas is a hero,” Destiny says.Continue reading…
