The Ride That Changed How I Saw My Dad
When Dad sold his motorcycle shop after 50 years and hit the road on a Harley, I felt abandoned. At 42, buried in bills, I couldn’t understand why he’d choose adventure over helping me.
After Mom died, I thought he’d settle down. Instead, he returned to his biker roots, saying the trip was a promise to her—to keep living. The night he left, he handed me a check from selling his tools—not out of duty, but love.
Months later, he came back full of stories. I realized his journey wasn’t selfish—it was healing. Love, I learned, sometimes means letting each other live freely.
