Echoes Of Kindness

Dear Stranger,

You probably don’t remember me but I remember you.

I was about 16 or 17 years old. It was a really hot summer day. I ran out of gas at the top of a hill in Montgomery Village, MD. This was long before cell phones. You were a boy of about 10 years old and you were riding your bike nearby when I was pulled to the side of the road. You found out I was out of gas. You rode your bike home, got gas in a container and biked uphill in the heat to bring it to me. You were sweating and pedaling so hard up the hill to get that gas to me. I remember thinking what a complete hero you were.

I think of you often. I’m 49 now and this gesture remains imprinted in my mind even as the years go by. Thank you. You showed me a random act of kindness that’s never faded.

Dear Stranger,

You probably don’t remember me. But I remember you.

I was 19 years old and had just purchased a Pontiac Sunfire. It was a stick shift. I thought I had the skills to drive it down pat. Little did I know what life would throw at me. It was a busy night during rush hour. I got a red light at the top of a very steep hill. There were dozens of cars behind me. The light turned green and I stalled.

I kept stalling. I stalled through the whole cycle of the stoplight and it was red again. Cars behind me were laying on their horns. I was in a state of panic. I was so embarrassed and scared and in total fight or flight. The light turned green and again I stalled through the whole cycle. This repeated a third time and people were yelling ugly things from their cars.

Tears poured down my face. I still had temporary tags on my license plate because my car was so new. You came walking up to my window on the drivers side and knocked. I was fearful; tears streaming down my face. I thought you were going to be mean. But you weren’t.

You said,”This is a new car and you’re just learning to drive stick right?” I nodded, unable to do anything but cry. You bent down close to my level and said, ”Don’t listen to any of them. I'm going to help you get through this next light.” You spoke to me in calm language; in the language of encouragement.

Your words guided me like an angel out of despair. I got it and you cheered. I pulled away. I never saw you again. I never got to say thank you. You were such a light and savior in that moment. I think of you often. Even 30 years later. I wish you knew how much I appreciate what you did. In a world full of bullies, you showed compassion.

Dear Stranger,

You probably don’t remember me. But I remember you.

I was 29 years old and I was driving back home to Dallas after visiting my best friend in Austin. I had recently gone through a breakup. I was having a bit of a mental breakdown in my life. I didn’t like where I was living. I was hurting from the breakup. I was questioning everything in my life. I was so overwhelmed and depressed.

As I was driving on the highway I was crying really hard. Life felt so hard. Joy was something long forgotten. I was so unhappy. So lost. I was crying uncontrollably. Ugly tears; hyperventilating; because life felt so difficult during this time. You made a sign on a piece of paper. You were a passenger in the backseat of the car in front of me.

You wrote on the sign, “It’s going to be ok.” You pressed the sign against the back window of the car you were riding in. You kept gently nodding. You took turns alternating between holding up the sign, putting your hands in prayer pose and putting your hand on your heart.

Eventually through your kind and loving gestures, you got me to nod in understanding and agreement. You kept gently nodding, putting the sign up in the back window. Looking at me with caring eyes. Truly shining light in a super vulnerable moment. I never saw you again. I never got to thank you. I think of you often. Even 20 years later.

Three strangers. Three men.

Society tries to tell us that men aren’t kind. That men are tough around the exterior and don’t connect to their feelings. But I say society is wrong. I think of these three strangers often.

I always wonder what happened to the boy who rode his bike up the hill bringing me gas. I want to thank not only him but his parents for raising him right.

I think of the man who helped me on top of the hill when I kept stalling. I wonder if he ever tells that story. I wonder if he was a teacher or had children. Does he have any idea the impact that act of kindness had on my life?

I think about the guy with the sign often. I wonder who taught him how to foster that kind of space holding. I wish I could thank him for his deep and profound empathy. Does he remember doing that?

I constantly remember these three different random acts of kindness. They stay with me. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever played that role in someone’s life too. Although I can’t remember distinctly, I like to believe that maybe I have. And I wish we could see more of this in the world.