Life and Death of a Patch

It’s not the patch that makes the man, it’s the man that makes the patch.

My gut dropped when I seen the brother walk through the door of the bar I work at. My husband rides with a club and worked hard for the patches on his back. Club dues, repos of certain property, late nights guarding bikes, bartending behind club bars, and that’s only the legal things I can mention. But this visit wasn’t a social call.

My husband and I work hard for everything we own. He worked almost 90 hours a week (taking him away from a lot of his club functions) and my two jobs we were living comfortably. Until he lost his job. Then our family depended on my two jobs, half the income we were use to. The club didn’t help with our bills, or offer food, nothing. Their speeches of family became more bullshit than a way of life.

My husband, Chase, had landed a job interview on a Friday. The same Friday the club was leaving for a weekend-out of state run. They gave him a choice: go on the run our go on the run. He decided that supporting his family was more of a priority than a run. He stayed behind and landed the job! I was so proud of him. A week went by without incident and he reminded me that he had ‘church’ that Saturday but wasn’t going to go, he had a lot to think about.

Sunday, in serving drinks, the music was playing, Chase was playing pull and that’s when I heard the door open and seen possible fate walking through the door. The brother ordered a drink, paid, and asked Chase to step outside. The dark feeling loomed over me as I tried to stay calm and in good spirits for the patrons. They walked in together and the brother slammed his drink. Chase winked, ‘It’s ok, I’ll be right back.’ Kissed me in the forehead and left.

I wanted to go with. I wanted to protect him because I knew it could go sideways quick. 45 minutes later Chase walked in, without marks and smiling. SMILING! ‘They took our cuts. It’s a good thing because their lack of sense of family and compassion just turned me sour. You sat with wives when they were going through chemo, we watched kids when they went to jail and we even bought food for their tables when they fell on hard times and they expected me to go on a run instead of going to my interview. THEN he had the nerve to tell me the club teaches you they’re your family when their motto is ‘FAMILY, WORK, CLUB. The look of disgust on his face was an understatement for how he really felt. My nauseating feeling quickly left. He then said, ‘The patch gave me a new way of life, but this club’s values will be the death of the true meaning of the patch.’

In a way he’s right, if they had more men like him wearing the patch, the club would of warrior men. Not snakes speaking with forked tongues of values they mimic in the darkness.

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