Lucas and Mason had been dreaming about Adventure World for two long years. For two years, they looked at pictures of their friends while at home. For two years, I saved every dime and planned every aspect of one ideal day. Lucas, who is 11 and has cerebral palsy, rehearsed his widest smile in front of a mirror. Mason, 9, who has muscular dystrophy, made a list of all the rides he wanted to go on, even though he knew some of them were impossible.
But when I asked in the local parent group who else would be visiting the park, the answers broke my heart:
“Please contemplate it again. Wheelchairs make the lines move more slowly.
“Don’t ruin it for other kids who have birthdays that day.”
“Disabled kids shouldn’t be with normal families.”
“Please consider it again. Wheelchairs make the lines move more slowly.
“Don’t ruin it for other kids who have birthdays that day.”
“Disabled kids shouldn’t be around regular families.”
We weren’t honest. Told the lads that the park was closed. Lucas’s face fell. Mason was crying softly in his room.
David then called an old friend, Tommy, who is now in a motorcycle club, in a panic. Three hours later, three huge bikers—Tommy, Bear, and Marcus—pulled into our driveway. They look scary on the outside, but they’re lovely on the inside.
Tommy knelt down and said, “Hey boys, we heard you want to go to Adventure World.” And we’re bringing you along. If someone has an issue with it, they will have to deal with us.
Lucas’s and Mason’s eyes brightened up. Wheelchairs? Is there a problem? None of that was important.
The bikers in the park protected us and showed us the way. Bear carefully picked Mason up and put him on rides that his wheelchair couldn’t reach. Marcus calmed the ride operators and made sure everyone was safe. Tommy kept everyone’s spirits up and got through every problem.
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The lads were worn out but happy by the conclusion of the day. Lucas went on twelve rides. Mason rode ten times. They did everything, from eating cotton candy to getting their faces painted to playing with toy animals.
A mother who had formerly spoken bad things about us came up and said she was sorry. “I understand now—they deserve this happiness.”
Mason fell asleep on the way home with his dragon trophy in his hands. Lucas gave Tommy his roller coaster picture.
Tommy texted David, “Water park next month.” Wheelchairs that can get wet are ready. “They need to know that the world is theirs.”
The message on Facebook quickly gained widespread attention. And today, Tommy’s club takes youngsters with disabilities on monthly trips to the theme park called “Wheels and Wings.” Forty-seven cyclists make sure that every child feels fulfilled, included, and respected.
“Can I be a biker too, even in my wheelchair?” Lucas asked Tommy not long ago.
Tommy smiled and said, “Brother, you already are.” That’s what it means to protect people.
These three bikers didn’t just take my boys to a theme park for the day. They showed them a world where wheelchairs aren’t constraints; they’re signs of bravery. Where every child is entitled to be happy, no matter what anyone else says.
