A group of motorcyclists showed up to defend my child from bullies — what occurred afterward stunned the entire community.
No one could have predicted the arrival of fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Certainly not the four teens responsible for his death. Crying has never been my thing. Spending twenty-six years as a high school janitor hardened me, made me learn how to keep everything bottled up. But when that first Harley pulled into ...