I was skeptical. Forty bikers in a children’s hospital? The administration would never approve it.
“I appreciate the offer, but that’s a lot of people. We have protocols. Background checks. Visitor limits.”
Something in his voice made me believe him.
“Let me talk to my supervisor and call you back.”
I expected my supervisor to say no. Instead, she said, “The Iron Hearts? They’ve been doing charity work in this city for thirty years. They’re good people. Make it happen.”
For the next three weeks, Big Jim and I coordinated everything. True to his word, all forty members submitted to background checks. Every single one passed. No criminal records. No red flags.
They asked for a list of kids who’d be in the hospital on Christmas Eve. Asked about ages, interests, favorite characters. They wanted to bring personalized gifts for every child.
“These kids deserve to feel special,” Big Jim told me on the phone. “Not just some generic stuffed animal. Something that shows someone thought about them specifically.”
I gave them the information. Forty-seven children would be spending Christmas Eve in our hospital. Some recovering from surgeries. Some fighting cancer. Some waiting for organs that might never come.
On December 24th at 6 PM, I heard them before I saw them. The rumble of motorcycle engines filled the parking lot. I looked out the window and my jaw dropped.
They’d even decorated their bikes with giant bags of presents strapped to the backs.
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