“What’s wrong, Mom?” my younger child asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said, with dread building. “Hopefully, it’ll start this time,” I offered, gently turning the ignition again.
All we heard was the constant thumping of the rain on the vehicle’s roof. The car, it appeared, had decided to die.
I looked around the Walgreens parking lot, watching last-minute harried shoppers dash into their cars. It was close to 11 p.m. on Dec. 24, I was with a 10- and an 8-year-old, and it was clear my options were slim.
“Someone’s coming,” my daughter announced, just as a large, burly man approached our car. Instinctively, I tensed. The man dashed up to the driver’s window offering to help. He had no umbrella, yet stood patiently and respectfully, waiting for my response. And while I’d expect to feel apprehension and suspicion, at that moment, I felt a sense of luck and gratitude as I nodded yes.
We spent the next 30 minutes troubleshooting. Or rather, he spent the next 30 minutes troubleshooting, while I served as his dutiful sidekick, popping open the hood and turning over the ignition at his direction. All the while, the rain was incessant. The man, kind and focused, approached the problem like a mystery he had to crack, one that included getting soaking wet as part of the challenge.
The kids were his exuberant cheerleading squad, bouncing around the interior of the car, watching our Christmas Eve hero with reverence. I tried to idly stand by him in camaraderie, but he insisted I stay in the car so as not to get wet.
After what felt like the umpteenth time, I turned the ignition and the car grumbled to life. Both kids cheered, I breathed an immense sigh of relief and the man, standing in the pouring rain, flashed a triumphant smile. I offered to pay him for his troubles, but he refused. His only request was that I be sure to take the car to a mechanic as soon as I could so it could be professionally checked out. If it were a Hallmark movie, it would have somehow incorporated a Santa cameo, maybe with his reindeer dashing across the sky.
Drenched yet unbothered, he gave a quick wave and headed toward his pickup truck. I sat there, letting it all sink in. It wasn’t just about getting the car started — it was about something much bigger. Kindness, I realized, often comes from the most unlikely places, in the most unexpected ways. It doesn’t always wear a familiar face, and it rarely asks for anything in return. But it has the power to change everything, even on a rainy night when hope feels far away.
Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of kindness to turn things around. And honestly, that’s the best kind of gift there is.
Happy Reading!
Alona Abbady Martinez
alona@bocaratonobserver.com