Tuff Love

Tears fill my eyes as I pull into the bank’s parking area. I take a few minutes to compose myself before I get out of my truck and start walking toward the front door of the building. A motorcycle is parked next to the door; I pause to look at the paint job. It has “R.I.P. Jessica” with a small angel on the gas tank.

The sight of the angel hits home with me, and I take time to do something I haven’t done since I was a kid, pray. “God, my little girl is six years old. I remember stories from the Bible where you healed people and did all kinds of miracles. I ask you to do the same for her. If there is something that I can do to help, I will do what you ask, no matter what it is, or the cost. I know I haven’t been a good Christian but I know I can. I’m sorry that it has taken this for me to want to try. If I have to suffer for my daughter, then so be it.”

I opened my eyes to see a large bearded man standing on the other side of the glass door staring at me. He had to be at least 6’3” and weigh close to 250 lbs. I move to the side so he can open the door to leave. I mutter a “sorry” as he passes me and I hear him reply, “Could’a been.”

I turned to watch him mount the bike and noticed, beneath the mane of his long, black hair, the back of his leather vest has the same angel as the gas tank.

Taking a key from his pocket the man put it in the slot and pushed the starter button causing the motorcycle to start with a loud “BLAAAT.” The man looked at me and revved the gas. The sound coming from the exhaust was so loud I had to squint my eyes. I could literally feel the throb of the engine in my chest. He took off leaving a trail of car alarms in his wake.

I wondered what kind of man could walk through life like that. A tough one obviously . . .

I entered the bank and told the woman behind the counter I was scheduled to see the manager. She showed me to a chair beside an office to wait.

As I sat there, I thought of the words which had shook my world the week before. “I’m sorry Mr. Allen, the tests came back positive. Your daughter has leukemia.”

The words from the doctor just ran together after that but I know he was talking about treatment and payment . . .

It wasn’t until the next day that I was able to talk to anyone about what needed to be done. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars for treatment. I have $4500 in my account; it may as well be nothing.

The manager showed up and I explained that I wanted to take out a second mortgage on my house hoping to get enough to cover the medical expenses.

The man was polite as he took down my information. When he was through, he let me know he would be contacting me in a day or two and let me know the answer.

When I reached my house, Macy was in the side yard. Her mom is swinging her on the tire swing I put up last year. You wouldn’t know she was sick looking at her.

Seeing my truck, she jumps off the swing and runs over to greet me. I grab her and swing her around and up into the air as she squeals with laughter. “Careful, Patrick,” my wife calls out.

I know she is thinking of the bruises. Macy had one on her side that wouldn’t go away and that is what caused us to bring her in for a checkup. Two days later we found out leukemia had our daughter in its grip. Talk about devastating.

My wife asked, “What did the bank say?” I set Macy down and replied. “Won’t know until a day or two. We have to hope for the best.”

I tell my wife, April, “If I have to, I will put my truck on the market.” I love my truck, but I love my daughter more.

The next day the bank manager calls bright and early. He tells me my current job doesn’t pay enough to cover a second mortgage.

When I tell April she goes berserk, screaming at me about losing my old job and taking one that pays less. I want to defend myself, telling her she knows I was laid off because the economy is in shambles. Instead, I let her vent because she is angry, just as I am.

I walk to Macy’s room and watch as she plays with a doll. Once again, I pray. “Please God, don’t take my baby girl, whatever it takes, please.”

We spent the rest of the day doing whatever Macy wanted to do. Eventually my wife joined in. It turned into a wonderful day even though we ended up spending $100 we couldn’t afford. However, the joy on that little face was priceless.

That night after tucking her in I heard her ask her mom, “What’s … lukeema … momma?” April didn’t bother trying to correct her on how she said the word, instead she fought back a sob. I went back into the room and said, “It’s something God will take care of, baby girl.” “Okay, Daddy,” was all she said. My wife stood there staring at me. When we left the room she said to me, “How dare you tell her that! What if she doesn’t get better?”

I thought for a minute. “I have to have faith that He will take care of her or make it so we get the help we need.” April stomped off and I said to the empty hallway, “I just need to have the faith in God that my daughter does in me.”

The next day found me driving aimlessly while trying to figure out what we were going to do. Anger seemed to be the only thing in my mind. I didn’t have a clue what to do.

Sitting at a red light, waiting for it to turn green so I could go, my truck just died. I tried to start it again but all I ended up doing was running my battery down. I slammed the steering wheel as hard as I could with the heel of my hand. I screamed as loud as I could, then rested my head on the steering wheel.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that before I noticed a rumbling noise. Looking in the rearview mirror I spotted a man sitting on a motorcycle with his hands raised up in a “what’s the deal?” manner. Fury ran through me like a wildfire.

I jumped out of the truck and ran at the man sitting there on the bike. I launched myself into the air swinging my right arm in a roundhouse punch. To my astonishment, the man caught my fist in his hand. As he started to dismount, he began to talk at the same time. “Friend, I don’t know what you might have going on that makes you want to lash out, but let me clue you in on something…”

He twisted my wrist so that I was forced down on my knees before he continued. “I’m feeling kind of generous today so I won’t break you in half. I also want for you to see things can get worse than they already are if you push the issue.” It was then that I noticed this was the same man from the bank.

Being on my knees, in the middle of the road, at this man’s mercy worked wonders at “getting my mind right.”

“I’m sorry man, I don’t know what came over me. Things are bad for me right now and I guess I let it get to me. Not that it would do any good, but if you let me up, I won’t try to hit you again.”

The big man smiled and let go of my hand. I stood, holding out my hand for him to shake. “Name’s Patrick Allen.” The man shook my offered hand never losing the smile he had on his face. “Moses Adams; they call me ‘Big Moe’ for some reason.” I looked up at him and said, “Wonders never cease, do they?” He chuckled at my statement.

Pointing at my truck, he asked, “What’s the problem?” I shook my head and replied. “Well, on top of the battery now being dead, it just died on me. It’s never done that to me in all the years I’ve owned it. Just one more thing to add to the pile…”

Big Moe asked, “Mind if I take a look?” Glad to have the offer of help, I told him, “Please do.”

He walked to the cab and opened the door. Reaching over the steering column and turning the key to the on position, he looked over at me and inquired, “When was the last time you put gas in the tank?” I just stood there looking at him for a moment. “Oh man, did I really do that?” I was embarrassed. Big Moe asked, “You got a can?” I shook my head letting him know that I didn’t.

Pulling a cell phone from his vest pocket he told somebody he needed a hand. He asked the person to bring a can of gas. He then looked inside my truck and said, “It’s a standard so we can push start it.” With that he shut down the phone and placed it back in his vest pocket.

Together we pushed it into an empty lot beside the road and then he went to get his bike.

After he was through, he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking, what has you so scatterbrained that you forget to put gas in your truck?” I winced at the thought. Glancing at the tank of his bike, I had the notion this man had his own share of heartache.

I told him the story from start to finish. He listened with his full attention without saying a word. When I was through, I pointed at the memorial on the tank of the bike and said, “I believe it’s your turn.”

“It’s for my daughter. She was born with a heart defect. She had to have a transplant when she was just three.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared off into the distance, remembering.

“When she was seven, she started to have problems. The doctors did all they could, but Jessica just couldn’t pull out of it. The hardest part was knowing that all she was worried about was how it would affect me.”

Big Moe balled his huge fist and raised it. After a moment he sighed and lowered it again. He spoke again. “This sounds crazy, but the gang I run with used to stay in trouble. Jessica made every man promise to do better and to try and help the next kid that needed help. Seven years old and she made a bunch of hardcore bikers change their lives. She passed a year ago. Every morning I wake up and think of what I can do that might make my angel proud of me. When I saw you yesterday, I was opening an account in Jessica’s name for sick children. The guys and I have raised $12,000 in the past year. It’s all yours, if you want it.”

I was dumbstruck. I told Big Moe about the prayer I was saying at the bank hoping I would be able to get some help. He laughed and said that he remembered wondering if I was stable, standing there like that when he first saw me. “It appears the Lord works in ways we can’t understand.” Moe looked at me and hit me with a question. “You gonna stand by your word to God?” I looked him in the eyes and replied, “Absolutely.”

Before long, another bike pulled in and the man began to take a small gas can loose from the sissy bar where he had strapped it down.

Big Moe walked over to the man and spoke with him for a moment. The other guy looked over at me and then moved away from the bike. I noticed then it sported the same design on the gas tank. Without saying anything he began to put the gas in my truck. As he did, I also noticed the vest he wore matched the one Big Moe had on.

Big Moe came over and told me, “If it’s alright I would like to get your phone number. I have some things I would like to check out that might be useful to you.” I said it would be okay and gave him the information.

With that done he told me to get in the truck and he and the other guy would push it. After they got a little momentum up, he yelled, “Put it in second and pop the clutch!” Doing as he said the truck bucked and fired up. I turned the truck around and he yelled, “Go get some gas!”

I waved and hurried to the nearest station. I filled the tank and rushed to get home and tell April that we might be in luck.

My wife was less enthusiastic than I was about what Big Moe had told me. She seemed to think the guy was just making everything up. “I think you need to be realistic.”

Her words hurt but I believed this to be true. I told her as much and she replied, “Guess we’ll wait and see.”

I waited all the next day but the phone didn’t ring. April commented on it to begin with, but by the second day she knew all I wanted was to help Macy. She walked up to me while I was looking out the window, giving me a hug. She told me she loved me. That was when the phone rang.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was a low rumble with the sound of a motorcycle in the background. “Patrick, sorry I didn’t get with you sooner, but these things take time, man. Look, can you come out to this address and check out what we have in mind?”

I asked for him to hang on while I told my wife. He said, “Why don’t you just bring her, too, and your girl if you can.” I told him I would on both requests.

The trip took a little over an hour. I had never been to the place before. When we turned off the main road, we came to a gate. A man sat not far away and let us in. My wife was worried, but I did my best to reassure her things would work out.

In a tree-lined pasture sat a large building. At least fifty bikes with the same paint job were parked around the entrance. To the side was a pen with ponies in it. A few children a little older than Macy were there petting them.

The front door opened as we pulled in. Big Moe walked to meet us. My wife commented, “I see why they call him Big Moe!” When I got out, he shook my hand. To April and my surprise, he hugged her. He called to one of the girls at the pen and asked her to bring Macy over to pet the ponies.

“Follow me,” he said and proceeded to walk to the front of the place. At the door, he stopped and stuck his head in and said, “Alright guys, come introduce yourselves.”

Once again, we were taken aback as close to fifty bearded, longhaired men of all different races shook my hand and then hugged my wife. When the men were through, a line of women as large as the men’s did the same except, they hugged both of us. There was camaraderie here.

When the greetings were through, he called the children over. He waved to Macy to come over to where we were standing and asked her, “Do you know who we are, Macy?” She smiled and said, “Daddy’s friends.” My heart warmed. My wife still had tears in her eyes from the greeting, so I couldn’t tell much about her.

Moe then said, “That’s right. Do you know what we are called?” Macy shook her head no and Moe said, “We go by the name ‘Guardian Angels’.”

“I named it after my daughter who was about your age. She wants us to help your parents and you, is that okay?” Macy looked at me and smiled. “If Daddy says it’s okay.” Laughter flowed through everyone from her comment.

The children went back over to the ponies and we were invited inside. Fliers were stacked on tables, and most of the women were on the phones. One woman walked over and told me she was Moe’s wife. She asked if we had a picture of Macy with us. Since we didn’t, she asked if she could take one. We still didn’t have a clear view of what was happening so I asked. The woman, Regina, stated she needed a picture to put on the fliers that would be used to help raise money. I told her to go ahead. She returned shortly and asked Moe to load the fliers in her car so she could take them to a print shop.

April and I were caught up in a whirlwind. We didn’t know how to react. Big Moe read the uncertainty in me and said, “Just take it easy and let us work; this is our chance to do what my daughter wanted. Tomorrow we will transfer the money in my account to yours and see where that puts us.”

I told him what the doctors said it would cost. He never blinked an eye, saying, “No problem, we will just have to ramp it up a little more.”

Moe looked at me and said, “Just keep your promise to God. One time I lied to a judge and had to do a year in jail for it.” He grimaced and said, “I think the promise you made was on a different level.”

Moe transferred the money the next day as promised. April was on the phone with his wife while I was talking to the doctor’s office.

They needed to find a donor for a bone marrow transplant before they could start. He asked for volunteers. If we found a compatible one, they would start the treatment in two months’ time.

I went home and told my wife what was said. Apparently, it wasn’t that easy to find a match; I was disheartened.

Moe called later that night and I told him the news. He asked if Macy had been typed yet. I told him I was taking her the next day. He said he would meet me there and we would try to find a match.

The next morning when we got to the hospital, the lot was full of bikes. All the men from the gang, and most of the women, were inside lined up and down the hallway. A frantic looking doctor came outside and made the statement they probably had enough after the first thirty. Big Moe stepped up to the man, looking down at him, and told him, “Guess that means you’re sure to have enough by the time you get through with all of us, don’t you think?” The doctor looked up at Big Moe and said, “Sure, it will be more than enough.” He went back inside. The loyalty of these people astounded me.

Three days later, while I was on my way to Moe’s place, I got a call from the doctor’s office. They had found a match. A donor by the name of Moe Adams. It just so happened that he was also the first one to try. The rest would be stored for use with other potential patients.

Moe was alone when I arrived. When I told him the news, the big man broke down, crying on my shoulder. He said he knew his Jessica was smiling down at him.

The weeks that followed were crazy. I helped with the fundraising when I could and April helped the women. Everywhere you looked, you could see a picture of Macy. All the red lights in town had a man with a bucket to collect donations.

All the men had put a patch on their vests with Macy’s face. The cops were called on more than one occasion when they would enter a bar making rounds asking for donations. The patrons soon found out that it was easier to just give the men money so they would leave. Everyone was happier that way. Other places put donation jars with Macy’s face and the words, “Macy’s Dream.” They stayed full. People gave freely. The donations reached $35,000.

Moe undertook the task of teaching me to ride a motorcycle for some reason, but it was fun. The bike had a small sidecar attached. Moe said it was like training wheels for a small child.

The day before the procedure was to take place, “The Guardian Angels” added a new name to their roster. Macy Allen was now a Guardian Angel.

A little leather vest was given to her with her name across the back. I’ve never seen so much glee in a child’s eyes.

The next morning, as we were getting ready to leave for the hospital, a couple of the gang showed up. Big Moe was at the front of the pack when I answered the door.

“Patrick, man, I made a mistake.” My heart dropped at his words. Then he smiled. “I forgot to add you and your wife’s names to the roster.” Regina stepped around her husband holding two leather vests, handing one to each of us. Our names were on the back. The small group cheered.

When we walked outside, the bike he had shown me to ride sat there with a brand-new paint job that matched the rest of the gang’s.

“You’re in a gang, you gotta ride like it. Your ole lady rides on back and Macy gets the car. She even has a pair of handle bars to help her old man drive,” Moe said with a smile.

April and I put our vests on. Now I knew how Macy had felt, man it was great.

I got on the bike and April climbed on behind me. Big Moe placed Macy in the side car, and put a small pair of goggles on her.

I drove slowly for the short distance to the hospital. About four blocks before we got there, both sides of the road were lined with motorcycles. Men, women, and children were strung out all the way to the hospital. Most were holding signs with Macy’s face and all were cheering. My little girl smiled and waved at them. Even homeowners and people who had pulled over joined in on her parade. It goes to show that when the chips are down, “Tuff Love” wins the battle.

Macy ended up staying in the hospital for almost a week. When she came home, she got to see the same parade except this time the Guardians had let the police know so traffic wouldn’t be held up, or so they thought. Every red light and intersection had a cop car or firetruck with lights flashing sitting there. All had posters of Macy.

She was weak for a while but when we went back to the doctor, everything was going wonderfully.

Easter was coming up and Big Moe asked her where she wanted to hunt eggs. Macy asked him, “Can the whole gang hunt eggs?” Moe told her that was the idea. Macy then said, “Let’s do it at a church, cause Daddy said he made a promise to God.” Moe and I looked at one another. He shrugged, bent down and picked her up, and placed her on his shoulders and said, “Right-on little momma, let’s go tell all the others we’re going to church Easter morning to hunt eggs.”