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I never liked my dad because he fixed motorcycles instead of having an important job like being a doctor or lawyer, like my friends’ parents.

Posted on April 29, 2025April 29, 2025 By admin

I used to be embarrassed by my father, Frank — a leather-clad motorcycle mechanic, not a doctor or lawyer like my friends’ dads. At my college graduation, he wore jeans and a button-up that revealed faded tattoos. When he went to hug me, I shook his hand instead. The look in his eyes still haunts me. Three weeks later, he was killed in a motorcycle accident.

At his funeral, I expected a small crowd. Instead, hundreds of bikers from six states filled the church parking lot, all wearing orange ribbons — Frank’s color. One by one, they shared stories: how he organized charity rides, delivered medicine through snowstorms, and saved lives — including helping one man get sober.

After the service, I was given a leather bag he’d left for me. Inside was a letter that read:

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