While I was cleaning off trays behind the counter, I observed the man standing just outside the entrance. He wore a flannel shirt, had a plastic bag over one shoulder, and looked kind yet drowsy. He thought about it for a bit before heading in. The smell of old clothes and street dust followed him inside.
It wasn’t strange; we’re right off the highway, so folks walk in looking for warmth instead of Whoppers. I was going to say Hello to him, but my 12-year-old son Nevan got there before. He was sitting at the booth next to the soda fountain, eating the last of his fries while he waited for my shift to end.
The man came up to the counter and said in a very low voice, “What can I get for 50 cents?”
Nevan spoke out from his chair before I could say anything. He said, “Are you hungry?” in a casual way, like he was chatting to a friend. The man smiled and said yes.
Nevan stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar cash. He had saved the money from his allowance by raking leaves for two weekends. “Can he get a meal with this?” he asked me, and then he gave it to me.
I don’t know what wounded me more: that my kid offered without thinking or that he didn’t look at me for permission even once. He simply did it.
The man looked at Nevan as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That’s too much,” he said and sought to give the money back.
But Nevan only shrugged. He said, “I was going to use it on Roblox.” “But you probably need it more than I need a pixel sword.”
I ordered a discount lunch and gave the man an extra cup of water. He sat next to the window and held the tray like it was worth a lot of money.
Nevan acted like nothing had happened and went back to his booth. He didn’t even wait for a “thank you.”
That wasn’t the weird thing, though.
The man got up approximately twenty minutes later, started to the door, and then stopped. He turned around and wanted to talk to me alone. His eyes looked like they were made of glass.
After that, he said something that shocked me.
I went with him to the side of the dining room, near the condiment station. “Listen,” he began, his voice wavering a little, “I’m… I’m sorry I took your son’s money. It’s just that… He stopped and took a deep breath. “I lost my job a few months ago. I planned to see my cousin in Kansas City, but I didn’t have enough money for the bus. I’ve been saving coins in the hopes that they will last. He looked across to Nevan, who was now watching a little youngster play with the restaurant’s plastic crown. “Your son… He reminded me of my son.
My shoulders hurt. Martell, the dad, told me he hadn’t seen his child in over a year. He added, “I messed up my life,” and it cost me my wife and, for a time, my son. Martell tapped the pocket of his shirt and then gently pulled out a little picture of a happy child. The boy was presumably younger than Nevan. “This picture helps me remember what I’m working for.” I’m hoping to acquire regular work so I can mend things and see him again.
He dropped the photo on the floor because his hands were shaking so badly. I bent down, picked it up, and then gently handed it back to him. “I apologize,” I responded, not knowing what else to say. My heart was racing. I looked at the picture. The boy’s face lit up with happiness, exactly like Nevan’s did when he knew he had done the right thing.
Martell put the picture back in his pocket. He said, “Your child has a good heart.” “Don’t assume that.”
I thanked him and nodded. After he left, I stayed by the ketchup dispenser for a while, thinking about how many times I had yelled at Nevan over little things like not cleaning his room, doodling on his homework, or forgetting to take out the trash. But the fact that he was happy to give me what little he had at the time transformed how I perceived him. The shift manager called me to help wipe the tables, but I was too busy for the rest of my shift.
Nevan went to the living room to turn on his game system as soon as we arrived home. Normally, I would have told him to do his homework first or at least take a shower, but that night I let him go without stopping him. That wasn’t me. I went to my room instead, took off my shoes, and stared at the ceiling fan for a few minutes to try to figure things out.
Why did my kid just give away his money? I knew that the solution to the question was simple. He gave it away because he knew the man was hungry, and Nevan thought that was more important than getting a better game. It hurt my heart so much that it made me feel like I was two inches tall. As adults, we often get so busy and overwhelmed that we forget how easy it is to be kind.
I had big plans for the next day. I took Nevan and myself to the store after school and let him pick out a few things he liked. I then asked, “Would you like to pick out a few more things to put in a gift bag for someone who needs it?” He was thrilled to choose some hearty soup, crackers, and a few snack bars. We also added a fresh pair of socks because I remembered hearing that socks are one of the things that homeless shelters need the most yet get the least of.
I didn’t know if or when we would see Martell again, but I wanted us to be ready. While we were checking out, Nevan stopped talking. He looked at me and asked, “Do you think that guy made it to Kansas City?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Me too, buddy,” I said. “I really do.”
Nevan went to work with me again on Friday. He liked to bring his homework and some comic books, and he also liked getting free refills of Coke. An hour into the night, the door opened, and Martell walked in. This time, he seemed a little more sure of himself. He noticed Nevan and nodded his head in greeting. Then he went to the bathroom to wash his hands.
I quickly put together the gift bag we had made and asked Nevan to help me give it to Martell. When Martell came out of the bathroom, Nevan walked over and gently handed him the bag. Martell looked inside, and his eyes filled with gratitude. He coughed and replied, “That’s… this is so nice.” Thanks.
Nevan shrugged, as he always does. He added, “Hope it helps,” as if it wasn’t a big thing. But I knew that was a major issue for Martell.
Martell stayed for a bit and drank a small cup of coffee. I took a break to talk because business was slow. He stated he was planning to board the bus the next day because he had enough extra money from doing odd jobs around the truck stop. “I’m going to Kansas City to see my cousin,” he said. After that, I hope to get my life back on track. He ran his hand through his short, gray hair. He took a time to think about it. “I could get a job in a warehouse if I can get there on time for the new hiring batch.”
Something strange happened at that time. A friend of mine named Paige who worked at the restaurant across the street came in to get an order to go. She had known Martell for a long time because she had worked in a warehouse in Kansas City (State of Missouri). They talked, and she said she would call her old supervisor to see if there were any jobs that would be a good fit for Martell’s skills. He seemed like he was extremely overwhelmed by all the affection around him.
When Paige departed, Martell stared at me. “I didn’t think there would be so many people out here trying to help me when I woke up this morning.” He turned to Nevan, who was reading one of his comic books again. “Your youngster changed the way I look at things. Life can be tough, and you forget how kind people can be.
The next day was a mix of terror and hope. Nevan and I drove to the bus station before my job. It was a little, old facility with only one vending machine and a few plastic benches. We spotted Martell waiting in line with his old bag. He smiled when he saw us, and his face lit up.
“You really came,” he said in a low voice.
Nevan said, “We wanted to say goodbye.” “And good luck.”
Martell set his suitcase down and took out the old picture of his son. “If everything goes well, I might see my son again by Christmas.” That’s what I desire. He checked the bus schedule on the wall and then turned back to us with a hopeful smile. “Your kindness gave me the push I needed.”
The bus came a few minutes later. Martell got on, waved goodbye, and then vanished into the sea of old seats and bags. We walked back to our car, and for some reason, our hearts felt light. We didn’t say anything on the trip home. We didn’t need to.
Life went on in our small village, and days turned into weeks. Nevan went back to school, and I maintained working my shifts. We would talk about how Martell was doing from time to time. There were two months that went by. The winter bustle brought the holidays.
Then, one night while I was at work, I got a call. Paige had been there and was out of breath. She said that Martell had gotten in touch with her through her old boss. He was safe in Kansas City, and the greatest part was that he got the job at the warehouse. He wanted us to know that he was fine and that things were getting better. “Thank you and happy holidays,” Paige said to the little guy.
I told Nevan the news when I saw him in the break room drinking hot chocolate from a styrofoam cup. He didn’t shout, jump up, or do anything like that. He only nodded silently and smiled a little, which spoke more than any words could. I put my arm around his back. I told you, “I’m proud of you.”
Nevan shrugged for the tenth time. “It was just five dollars.”
But at that moment, I realized it was worth a lot more than five bucks. It was a symbol of hope, a method for people to connect, and maybe even the time when someone else’s life changed.
That day, Nevan taught me some things. For instance, compassion doesn’t have to come with strings attached, and a small act of kindness can have a great impact. It’s not always about big gestures; sometimes all you need to do is see someone as a person who needs help instead of just a stranger you meet.
We never know when a tiny act of compassion will impact the lives of others or even our own. Watching Nevan made me think about how our kids often see the world more clearly than we do, without worry, pride, or cynicism getting in the way. We may learn from them and remember the good things we sometimes forget about when we’re stressed.
Martell finally made it to Kansas City, which is in Missouri. He got the job, and maybe soon he’ll be able to fix things with his family. None of this would have happened if a hungry man hadn’t strolled into our restaurant with 50 cents in his pocket. My kid gave him five crumpled dollars without even thinking about it.
What did you get out of this? Don’t think your kindness isn’t very strong. We could think it’s not a huge deal—a few money, a smile, a hot meal—but to someone else, that generosity could be what makes them believe in themselves again. A 12-year-old can see that, so we can all have hope.
