I thought I understood what family meant. I thought it meant sharing a last name. I thought it meant birthdays, holidays and old photographs sitting in dusty boxes and most of all I thought it meant people who were supposed to protect you simply because they were connected to you.
Over the years, I learned that wasn't always true. Sometimes family was the person who stayed when things became difficult.
Sometimes family was the person who showed up before you even asked. And sometimes family arrived carrying paint brushes, coffee and enough food to feed an entire army.
By Saturday morning, Lawson Customs looked less like a damaged workshop and more like a construction zone.
The broken front windows had already been replaced temporarily, the damaged motorcycles had been moved into safe a
