As I came home to my darkened house one evening, a strange man approached me. Many thoughts ran through my head, none of which made it to my feet. I just stood there, waiting and wondering.
He said hello. I waved. He told me about his exhausted car. I expressed concern.
“Do you live around here?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Can I borrow your phone?”
“Did you reach who you needed?”
“It should work out,” he confirmed.
I went into the house. Turned on the lights. My roommate came home. Then, knock. Knock.
“Could I po
ssibly ask you for two more favors?” he wanted to know.
“Sure. I’ll get my phone charger. The restroom is upstairs,” I offered.
A car appears. An expression of gratitude. He leaves. I return inside.
About a week later, I receive a note in the mail. It’s from the man! Grateful for my help, he wrote and sent me and my roommate a holiday card. At first, awe. Then, delight. An act of kindness returned with an act of thoughfulness. Such exchanges feel rare these days. So when it does happen, I’m glad it’s happening in Detroit.