A ripple of solemn nods passed through the crowd. A massive man with a braided gray beard that reached his sternum stepped out of the formation.
“I have three daughters,” the bearded man stated, his voice a low rumble. “They are all grown women with families of their own now.” He looked down at his boots, a heavy regret hanging over him. “I missed a hell of a lot of their lives chasing the wind.”
A younger biker near the back spoke up. “I missed every single softball game my kid ever played.”
Another shrugged, his leather jacket creaking. “I missed the dance recitals because I thought the club needed me more.”
“I missed more birthdays than I care to confess,” a fourth added, the shame evident in his tone.
The silence that followed was incredibly heavy, thick with the unspoken regrets of a hundred absent fathers. Dad looked at his brothers, the defensive posture melting away, his eyes softening with understanding.
Rick shoved his calloused hands deep into his denim pockets. “A lot of us sat around the clubhouse watching that clip, and it forced us to do some hard thinking.”
“Thinking about what, Rick?” Dad asked softly.
“About what actually matters in this short, brutal life,” Rick answered. He paused, letting the words sink in, before that wide grin returned. “So, we decided to mobilize. We decided to do something about it.”
