My dad, Grandpa Jack’s son, was the only family member who didn’t show up to his 80th birthday party.
I stood across the street and watched Grandpa wait for guests that never showed up while sitting alone at a long table with his helmet on.
The staff at the restaurant were kind and understanding while he looked at his phone over and over for two painful hours.
Three weeks before, Grandpa Jack called each family member by name. “Just got the big 8-0,” he said with that deep, Harley-rumble laugh. “I thought we could all meet up at the Riverside Grill.” Booked the room in the back. Just family, nothing fancy.
That’s not how our family works, though. There are a lot of things about Grandpa that make them feel bad, like the fact that he still rides his Harley every day and has tattoos that tell his story.
My dad, who is now a corporate lawyer, has tried to stay away from the biker society he grew up in for most of his adult life.
On the other hand, I never saw a reason to turn it down. Only Grandpa and I ride together, and I’m proud of his club and his history.
I called my dad the morning of the dinner to make sure he would be there.
What he said made my blood boil. He said in a cold voice, “We’ve decided it’s not appropriate.”
I told him that today was his dad’s 80th birthday.
He wasn’t unsure.
All of them skipped dinner, and no one was brave or polite enough to tell Grandpa Jack.
I was going to be late with a surprise gift—the original tail light from his first Harley, a 1969 Shovelhead that he sold to pay for my dad’s braces. It took me months to find that part. I stayed hidden across the street and watched Grandpa’s pride slowly fade.
I drove to his house in the morning. He didn’t seem upset because he was in his garage changing the oil on his Road King. He said in a low voice, “You were the only one who showed up.”
I told him I had been, but not in the way he thought I would. I told them, “They had no right to treat you that way.” He gave a shrug. “People decide what to do.”
That moment made something in me stronger. My family did something wrong. I couldn’t let them get away with it without getting hurt. So I began to plan.
Snake was my first call. He was Grandpa’s best friend and is now head of the Iron Veterans Motorcycle Club.
After that, I called my dad. I made it sound like I was crazy. “Grandpa!” He is in the hospital. “It’s important.” My dad, who sounded really worried, said he’d be there right away.
Texts and calls from other family members came in thick and fast over the next few hours. Now that it looked like Grandpa might not make it, everyone became interested.
I went back to Grandpa’s house that night and asked him to help me with something important the next day.
He didn’t ask many things. Not even a word.
Grandpa was up early the next morning to clean his Harley until it shined. We took the same ride to the hospital. As we parked, the sound of dozens of bikes hitting the ground filled the air. The Iron Veterans had come. They rolled into the hospital parking lot in a straight line.
Snake was the first to meet us, and he gave Grandpa a warm hug. He told him, “Happy birthday, brother.”
Soon after, my father in his work suit, Aunt Karen, cousins, and in-laws came out of the hospital entrance. They were all ready for a sad visit to a hospital room.
Instead, they got a show with rows of motorbikes, riders dressed in leather, and Grandpa Jack looking more proud than I had ever seen him.
My dad stomped over. “What is this?” We thought he was going to die! We were really scared!”
He looked around, though, and his face changed in some way. When he thought of “biker friends,” these weren’t the rough and tumble thugs he had in mind.
These were men and women who had been there for Grandpa through good times and bad. They were firemen, veterans, mechanics, and small business owners.
Then, out of the blue, my dad turned to his wife. Is it okay for Margaret to take the car home? “My dad and I are going.” He then, to everyone’s surprise, climbed on the back of Grandpa’s Harley.
In his fitted suit, he looked both silly and like he belonged. It was like finding something lost again.
What started out as a plan to get back at someone turned into something much more important. I wanted to make them feel bad for turning down Grandpa, but instead I made room for them to get back together. That night, a birthday party was thrown at Grandpa’s house without warning by both family and friends.Grandpa never asked for a lot. Just be polite. What he got in the end was just that.