Kindness Never Tires

Around Halloween, 1991, there was a record-breaking snow storm in the Midwest. I was a college sophomore, and had decided — well before the storm began — that I was going to drive the four hours home to visit a boyfriend and attend a party. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me, so I left my dorm alone. Just me and my huge old car.

There were fewer and fewer cars on the road as I went south, and the snowfall got heavier. At one point, I heard on the radio that all but emergency traffic was being asked to stay off the roads. This was well after dark… Of course, being young and stupid, I kept going.

About 20 minutes outside of my hometown, my front driver’s side tire blew, and made a sound like an explosion. I managed to hold the steering wheel and pulled off into a construction zone. Shaking, I got out of the car and looked at the damage. I popped the trunk and — this is how big the car was — had to crawl into it to pull the spare out. I got out the jack, and hoped I could figure out how to do this, since no one had ever taught me.  And it was still snowing, really heavily.

Before I could even get everything out, another car pulled over and two older men got out. They asked me if I was ok, and offered to help. Together, they changed my tire for me and drove off with a wave, without ever telling me their names. I think one might have been a preacher of some type.

I got home safely, thanks to those two nameless heroes.

Whoever you are, if you’re out there, thank you. I’ve since learned to change a tire by myself and have passed your kindness forward.