Bullied boy told me he’d rather die than go back to school, so I called every biker I knew and we showed up at 7 AM the next morning. His name was Tyler. He was ten years old. And three days earlier, six kids had beaten him so badly in the school bathroom that he’d spent two nights in the hospital.
I’m not Tyler’s father. I’m not even related to him. I’m just the guy who lives two doors down and happened to be outside when Tyler’s mom, Jennifer, collapsed crying on her front lawn.
“He won’t go back,” she sobbed. “He says he wants to die. My baby said he wants to die and I don’t know how to help him.”
I’m sixty-three years old. Been riding motorcycles for forty-two years. I’m a big guy with a beard down to my chest and tattoos covering both arms. Most people cross the street when they see me coming.
But I sat down on that lawn next to Jennifer and I listened.
Tyler had been bullied for months. Called names. Shoved in hallways. His lunch stolen. His backpack thrown in toilets. All because his father had died of cancer last year and Tyler cried sometimes at school. The bullies called him a crybaby. Called him weak. Called him worthless.
Three days ago, they’d cornered him in the bathroom. Six fourth-graders against one grieving boy. They’d beaten him until a teacher heard the commotion.
The school suspended the bullies for three days. Three days. Then they’d be back.
And Tyler refused to go back with them there. “I can’t do it, Mom,” he’d told Jennifer. “I can’t face them again. I just want to be with Dad. At least Dad would protect me.”
That broke something in me. This kid who’d lost his father. Who was being tortured by other children. Who saw death as preferable to another day of school.
“What if he wasn’t alone?” I said quietly.
Jennifer looked at me with red, swollen eyes. “What?”
“What if Tyler knew he had people watching out for him? Big, scary people who won’t let anything happen to him?”
“I don’t understand.”
I pulled out my phone. “I’m part of a motorcycle club. We’re mostly veterans and retired guys. We do a lot of charity work, but we also do something else. We protect kids who need protecting.”
I made five phone calls. Within an hour, I had forty-seven bikers confirmed for the next morning.
That evening, I knocked on Jennifer’s door. Tyler answered. He was small for ten, with his father’s brown eyes and a face covered in bruises. His arm was in a sling.
“Hey buddy,” I said gently. “My name is Tom. I live two doors down. Your mom said it’s okay if I talk to you for a minute.”
Tyler nodded but didn’t speak.
I knelt down so I was at his eye level. “I heard about what happened at school. I heard about those kids hurting you. And I heard you don’t want to go back.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I can’t. They’ll just hurt me again. And nobody can stop them.”
“What if I told you that’s not true? What if I told you that tomorrow morning, you’re going to walk into that school with forty-seven bodyguards?”
“What?”
“My friends and I ride motorcycles. We’re big guys. Tough guys. And we’re really good at making sure bullies understand that their behavior has consequences.” I put my hand on his good shoulder. “If you’ll let us, we’d like to escort you to school tomorrow. Make sure everyone there knows you’re not alone. Make sure those bullies understand they picked on the wrong kid.”
Tyler’s lip trembled. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“Because a long time ago, I was you. I was the kid getting beat up. The kid everyone picked on. And I wished every single day that someone—anyone—would show up for me. Nobody ever did.” I paused. “So now I show up for kids like you. Because you deserve to feel safe. You deserve to go to school without being afraid.”
“Will you really come?”
“Brother, I promise you. Tomorrow morning at 7 AM, there will be motorcycles lining this street. And you’re going to ride to school.
