The little boy marched up to our table of leather-clad bikers and slammed down a piece of paper. On it, written in uneven letters, were the words:
“DADDY’S FUNERAL – NEED SCARY MEN.”
His tiny hands were still stained with marker ink. His Superman cape was on backward. The diner went silent as fifteen hardened members of the Iron Wolves MC stared at this kid who couldn’t have weighed forty pounds soaking wet.
“My mom said I can’t ask you,” he announced, chin lifted with defiance. “But she cries all the time. And the mean boys at school said my daddy won’t go to heaven without scary men to protect him.”
Big Tom—two tours in Afghanistan, skull tattoo curling up his neck—picked up the paper with surprising care. It was a crayon drawing: stick-figure bikers on motorcycles surrounding a coffin. Above it, in backward letters, were the words: “PLEASE COME.”
“Where’s your mom, little man?” Tom asked. His voice, usually sharp as gravel before a fight, came out impossibly soft.
The boy pointed to a beat-up Toyota outside. Inside, a young woman sat with her head in her hands. “She’s scared of you. Everybody’s scared of you. That’s why I need you.”
I’d seen Tom break a man’s jaw for disrespecting his bike. But now, his tattooed hands shook as he looked down at the page. In the corner was tomorrow’s date and the words: Riverside Cemetery.
“What was your daddy’s name?” someone asked.
“Officer Marcus Rivera,” the boy said proudly. “He was a police. A bad man shot him.”
The air grew heavy. Cops and bikers didn’t mix. Most of us had scars, bruises, or records thanks to them. But here was this boy, asking us to honor his fallen father.
Tom stood slowly, a giant casting his shadow across the table. “What’s your name, Superman?”
“Miguel. Miguel Rivera.”
Tom knelt until he was eye-level with the boy. “Well, Miguel Rivera,” he said, voice steady as steel, “you tell your mom your daddy’s going to have the biggest, loudest, scariest escort to heaven anyone’s ever seen.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Really? You’ll come?”
From the back, Snake muttered, “He was a cop.”
Tom didn’t flinch. “He was a father. And this little warrior here just did the bravest thing I’ve seen all year. We ride.”
Credit goes to respective owner✍️
