<\/p>\n
My dad died last week\u2014alone, by the side of Highway 49. His Harley had broken down in 103-degree heat. He\u2019d called me 17 times over three days. I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
We\u2019d been distant for years. He always chose his biker club over birthdays and big moments\u2014missed my graduation, was late to my wedding. When he refused to help with my kitchen remodel, I cut him off for good.<\/p>\n
Truth is, I was embarrassed by him\u2014his leather, his grime, his loud life didn\u2019t match mine. So when he kept calling, I assumed he wanted money. I deleted his last voicemail without listening.<\/p>\n
Then he died\u2014clutching a letter for me. I found it in his riding jacket. He had cancer. He wanted one last ride, to the lake where we used to fish with Mom.<\/p>\n
I broke down in his garage, surrounded by the life I never took time to see.<\/p>\n
His biker friends told me he never missed a chance to brag about me. One showed me a photo he carried of me at six, saying, \u201cYou were his greatest ride.\u201d<\/p>\n
He started riding after Mom died, to survive raising me alone. \u201cThe bike kept me alive for you,\u201d he\u2019d written.<\/p>\n
In his garage were photo albums of me, a savings account labeled \u201cFor Emma\u2019s Dreams,\u201d a box of my childhood drawings, and a leather jacket in my size: \u201cFor when you\u2019re ready to ride.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t\u2014until after he was gone.<\/p>\n
We gave him the ride he wanted. His club led a procession down Highway 49, his Harley in tow. Later, they taught me to ride\u2014just as he\u2019d planned in a notebook I never knew existed.<\/p>\n
Two months later, I got my license. They gave me a purple bike\u2014his idea. Now, I ride every Sunday. I visit the lake. I wear a patch that says \u201cJack\u2019s Daughter.\u201d<\/p>\n
I used to think I was too good for that title.<\/p>\n
Now I know I wasn\u2019t good enough.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"