To the family in the red SUV at Tim Hortons today,
Yes, I am a big guy. Two hundred and eighty pounds. I ride motorcycles, I have tattoos from head to toe, I work as a welder, my voice carries across a room, I enjoy my beer, I swear a little too often and I probably look like the kind of man you would cross the street to avoid.
But here is what you do not know. I have been married for eleven years to the love of my life. My kids call me daddy and I melt every single time. I am a college graduate. My mother brags to everyone about me and says how lucky she is to have me as her son. My nieces and nephews light up when they see their Uncle Luc. When my little girl broke her arm, I cried harder than she did. I read books. I stop to help people. I shake the hands of veterans and thank them for their service. And yes, I cried during the movie Armageddon.
So next time I smile and say hello to your little girl and you quickly pull her away while whispering, “We do not talk to dirty bikers,” remember this. Even though your words stung, this so called dirty biker would be the very first person to run into your burning house if it meant saving your little girl’s goldfish so she would not have to cry.
Credit to the original writer.