11/05/2025
22 bikers helped my dying son on highway when everyone else just filmed his seizure. My ten-year-old boy Jackson was convulsing on the hot asphalt after falling off his bike, and instead of helping, people pulled out their phones, recording him for social media while I screamed for someone to call 911. Cars honked for us to get out of the way, drivers yelled that we were blocking traffic, one man even threatened to run us over if we didn\'t move. Then I heard the thunder of motorcycles, and these leather-clad strangers surrounded us like a wall, their bikes creating a barrier between my seizing child and the monsters who cared more about their commute than a kid\'s life. The seizure had come out of nowhere. One minute Jackson was riding his bicycle on the shoulder, me jogging beside him during our afternoon exercise. The next, he\'d collapsed, his little body rigid and shaking. I\'d pulled him off the shoulder onto the grass, but he\'d rolled back toward the road during the convulsions. I couldn\'t lift him and hold his head at the same time. Couldn\'t protect him from traffic and stop him from biting his tongue. \"Help!\" I\'d screamed at the passing cars. \"Someone help! Call 911!\" A few slowed down. Most didn\'t. And the ones who stopped didn\'t help – they filmed. I watched phone after phone come out, pointing at my son, at his contorting body, at the foam coming from his mouth. \"Stop filming!\" I begged. \"Please, just help him!\" \"Dude, this is wild,\" one teenager said to his friend, zooming in. A woman in a BMW rolled down her window. \"You need to move him. You\'re causing a traffic hazard.\" \"He\'s having a seizure! I can\'t move him!\" \"Well, you can\'t stay here.\" She drove off. The honking started. Angry, impatient honking from people who could see a child convulsing but cared more about being five minutes late. Someone yelled that I should just drag him off the road. Another person asked if I was going to sue the city for not having better bike lanes. Not one person helped. Not one person called 911 that I could see. They just filmed and honked and complained. Then I heard them. The motorcycles. The sound grew louder, and suddenly they were there – a group of bikers, maybe seventeen of them, pulling off the highway in a coordinated line. They didn\'t hesitate, didn\'t ask questions. The lead biker, a massive man with a white beard, jumped off his Harley and immediately knelt beside Jackson. \"I\'m a paramedic,\" he announced, checking Jackson\'s pulse. \"How long has he been seizing?\" \"Three minutes, maybe four,\" I gasped. \"I called 911 but they said fifteen minutes minimum—\" \"Not good enough. His chances of survival are quite........
