The girlfriend’s father took one look at me and pulled Tyler aside. I could hear them from across the yard. “That’s your father? You said he was a business owner. You didn’t say he was a biker.”
Tyler’s response destroyed me. “He’s not really my father. My real dad is Gregory. This guy is just… someone my mom used to know.”
“Dad, you don’t understand,” he said. “These people… they’re important. If they knew my real father was a biker, they’d never accept me. I’m trying to build a future here.”
“So you erased me.”
“I didn’t erase you. I just… I told them Gregory is my dad. It’s easier.”
“Easier for who?”
He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry, Dad. But you have to understand. You’re not exactly the kind of father people want to introduce to important people.”
That was eighteen years ago. Tyler went to college. Became a corporate lawyer. Married that girlfriend. Had two kids I’ve never met. Built a life where I didn’t exist.
He’d call sometimes. Birthday. Christmas. Quick calls where he’d check a box and hang up. When I asked to visit, there was always an excuse. Too busy. Bad timing. Maybe next year.
Then three years ago, the calls stopped completely. I called him on his birthday and a woman answered. His wife. She said Tyler didn’t want to talk to me anymore. Said I was “dredging up a past he’d rather forget.” Said I should respect his boundaries.
I was completely erased. A ghost. A dead man to my own son.
The last time I tried to reach him was three weeks ago. I drove to his office in my truck—not even my bike, my truck—and asked the receptionist if I could see Tyler Mitchell. She called up to his office.
Tyler came down to the lobby. Looked at me with cold eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see you, son. It’s been three years. I miss you.”
“I asked you not to contact me.”
“You’re my son. I’m your father. I love you.”Continue reading…
