A group of motorcyclists showed up to defend my child from ʙᴜʟʟɪᴇs — what occurred afterward stunned the entire community

I never cried easily—not after decades as a school janitor. But when dozens of Harleys rolled into the cemetery for my son’s funeral, I broke down.

Mikey was 14 when he took his own life. In his note, he wrote, “I can’t do this anymore, Dad,” naming four classmates who bullied him daily. I felt I had failed him.

Then Sam, a local biker, offered quiet support. “If you want us there, we’ll come.”

The next day, bikers lined the chapel. When the bullies arrived, their confidence vanished. One father complained. I told him, “So he should be.”

Sam and the bikers spoke at Mikey’s school. Their stories moved students. Change followed—anti-bullying programs launched, and the principal resigned.

I left my job, started a scholarship in Mikey’s name, and now ride with the Steel Angels to support grieving families.

When I hear thunder, I think of Mikey. We ride to protect the next child.

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