My ten-year-old son Jackson was having a seizure and shaking on the hot asphalt. People honked their horns and hollered, and some even pulled out their phones to record instead of helping. One guy even claimed he would drive us home if we didn’t move. I was terrified and angry, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t defend him, couldn’t get to 911 fast enough, and I felt all alone.
Then the roar of motorcycles filled the air. Seventeen strangers in leather surrounded us, forming a wall of steel and bravery between Jackson and the traffic that didn’t care.
Jackson had fallen off his bike, and the seizure came out of nowhere. He tumbled perilously close to the road, and his little body shook and foamed at the lips. I couldn’t hold him and keep him safe at the same time. Most of the time, people didn’t listen when I asked for aid.
But the cyclists didn’t think twice. Bear, the leader, was a tall man with a paramedic vest who sat down next to Jackson. He asked softly, “How long has he been having seizures?”
“Three minutes, maybe four,” I answered in disbelief.
“Not good enough.” Making a circle. “Now,” Bear said.
The bikers swiftly made a circle around us with their motorcycles to protect us. Then they stood in front of us as a human shield, stopping angry cars and traffic. One rider told me to write down Jackson’s seizure in detail for the medical records.
Every minute felt like an hour. Bear and a woman named Angel kept Jackson safe by checking his airway, giving him cold compresses, and soothing him down. Two bikes rode into traffic at the same time, which made place for the ambulance that was on its way.
The EMTs realized what was going on as soon as they got there. Bear and the bikers worked well with the paramedics to move Jackson onto the stretcher. Jackson was finally safe eight minutes after the seizure stopped.
I rode Bear’s motorcycle behind the ambulance, which I never thought I would do, but I trusted him right away. The bikers took us all the way to the hospital, halting traffic, keeping us safe, and staying with Jackson until the doctors determined he was stable.
Jackson’s seizure was a breakthrough episode because he was too hot and dehydrated. It could have been the start of a disease that could be controlled. But the bikers stayed. They brought food, coffee, and comfort. They told us what happened to them and placed us in touch with doctors.
These seventeen persons who didn’t know each other became family on that day. Every year, they put on a charity event called “Jackson’s Ride” to raise awareness about epilepsy. Jackson, who is now 13, rides proudly behind Bear, who has a vest that says, “Protected by Road Warriors MC.”
People who videotaped instead of aiding, on the other hand, were publicly shamed, and some lost their jobs or were punished. What happened to the people on the motorcycles? They became local heroes, and their efforts made many other people in the community want to be nice and help others.
Sometimes people are scared of the wrong individuals. People who look scary on motorcycles are sometimes the first to help, while others just stand by and watch.
Jackson lives because they chose to do something instead of nothing and to be brave instead of easy. They saw someone who needed help and didn’t think twice about giving it to them.