Bikers

Have I ever mentioned that I love bikers.

I am facinated by their lives, envious of their carefree approach to the world.

I also have a unique insight into this by way of proxy. You see, my sister Melody once lived with the Hells Angels in LA. It was during a time in her life when living at home wasn't an option for her anymore and she wasn't old enough to move out on her own legally. So, she ran away.

I had heard stories from her, just snippits really. I heard her often say that she missed them, that, she wanted to call, but, was afraid of what they would do to her husband for his abuse.

I recall that at her funeral, we were just starting when the church doors open and the room immediatly began to overflow from all the men and women who spilled in. Long hair, short hair, tatoos, clean cut, leather jackets, all walks of life strolled in the door with their hands mostly clasped together in front of them.

The service paused and all eyes turned towards them, there were a few smiles amongst those I knew, but, more nervous whispers than anything. My oldest brother squeezed my hand and then slipped his arm around me.

After it seemed that everyone was there, the service began again. I was awed by their presense. They were very respectful and full of reverance for their surroundings. Many of the women cried silently and more then once I saw one of the big burly men reach up to wipe a tear away.

When I say big burly men, don't think that I believe all bikers are big burly men, but, I was only 12 and so pretty much everyone was bigger then me.

At the age of twelve however, I expected all of them to light their ciggarettes and pull out their bottles to toast her for a final time right there in the church. I kept one facinated eye on them the whole time.

I can't say that anything unusal or spectacular happened during the service. It was after that I was left speechless.

The roaring sound of a hundred bikes flaring to life at almost exactly the same time sent my heart racing. They waited until the funeral procession began, sliding themselves in right behind the family. In our town, every single funeral procession has a police escort and I was raised that you never ever, turn your vehicle into said procession. You wait through green lights until it is passed, a sign of respect for the dead and their grieving families.

Most funeral processions are silent, but not this one. This one had music that played and played loudly. About half of the bikes had a little boom box tied to the back and in unison they began to play pre-recorded tapes. I remember two songs. One was "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. The other one was "Jack and Diane" by John Couger Mellencamp as he was called back in those days.

At the graveyard service as she was lowered into the ground, I looked around and they were all holding hands. At that moment, I felt so alone. Next thing I knew, a soft hand wrapped around mine and I was gently pulled into the brace of a rather portly woman.

After that, I was passed to a gentleman, and so on and so forth. Each of them whispered something into my ear, to this day I could not tell you what a single one of them said, but, I do recall the smell of leather and old spice on the men. Each of them women smelled a little different, but not bad. If I had to describe the smell, I would say it smelled like.."Safety".

Anyway. I am digressing, that wasn't the point of this post. I wanted to share with my readers something that happened a couple of weeks ago. October 3rd to be exact.

My boys and I jumped in the van and ran up to the grocery store to give dad a few minutes of peace and quiet. The store nearest the house sits on one of our busiest roads and I pulled in just in time for the dinner rush. Driving all the way to the end of the parking lot I was in no hurry and when we saw the first bikes go by, I pointed them out to the boys.

We watched for about 3 minutes, mesmerized as the bikes continued to come and I thought that they must be heading for the river, then, I realized it was too late in the year for that. The honking of a car behind me reminded me I was still in the way so we parked and got out to watch.

The bikers were not stopping for the light, even as it turned red and this caused my eyebrow to go up. Growing up the way I did, I thought that surely they must be laying a friend down to rest and the boys and I sat on a sloped hill to watch the procession.

After a few moments, a cop arrived on the scene and I cringes, thinking that this was not going to bode well. He got out of his squad car however and stood in the middle of the street, keeping any and all traffic from going by or interupting the line. Two by two the bikers went by. An endless column of was streaming down over the hill. There literally was no end in sight.

Then I began to notice something else. Each bike had a stuffed animal tied to the back. Upon closer inspection, I reliazed that it wasn't just stuffed animals, there were all kinds of toys. Strapped to the back, the sides, in their pouches.

Just about the time two guys side by side rode up wearing Santa hats, I had figured it out.

This was the annual Toys For Tots run.

These men and women. Who have reputations for being bullies, drug dealers, and trouble makers in general, get together every single year here and make a run for Toys For Tots.

If you don't know what that is, I will explain quickly. Toys for tots is a program that allows people with low incomes to go and get toys for their children at Christmas time. No family is turned away and it is done in conjunction with the National Guard.

I felt tears burning at the corners of my eyes and my heart constricted tightly. They were waving at my boys, each time sending my youngest into a fit of giggles. They returned our whistles and shouts with their own shouts, or beeping of the horns.

We sat there for nearly 45 minutes. Yes, 45 minutes it took this convoy of bikers to get past us, even without having to stop for the lights. By the time it was all over, there were people lined up and down the streets cheering them on, many of them, like me, wiped tears from their faces.

Perhaps they do not know how much they touch people. I doubt any of them have ever had the pleasure of seeing one of recipients open these presents and see the look of pure joy on their faces.

But I have. So, for all of those nameless, faceless children, I can say thank you. For my own children have once or twice, recieved from them. The love, the generosity of them, is an overwhelming thing.

Every year, my children and I go down to the dollar store, and they pick out three toys each. We take them down and donate them to the program so that some other child can enjoy what my children enjoyed.

With Christmas right around the corner, I urge everyone, to take a few minutes, and buy a little something to donate. Trust me, even if you don't see it, it brings joy that would otherwise be absent for many of these kids. If you are not sure if you have this program in your area, contact the local Head Start, or the National Guard in your area.

I think it's time we head over to the dollar store ourselves.