The Night We Accidentally Earned Angel Wings

Back Then, It Was Just Called Tuesday

Every year on Father’s Day, I hear from a handful of people who remind me why I haven’t given up hope yet. One of them messaged me this morning with a note so kind and unexpected that I couldn’t help but reflect — not just on fatherhood, but on manhood itself.

And let me tell you: in a world that’s so loud, divided, and suspicious these days, I still believe in something simple:

Kindness.

Now don’t get me wrong — I rant. I vent. Lord knows I’ve said things that’ll probably be illegal to repeat in a few years. But I’m getting it all out now while I still can. I walk a fine line, sure. But the way I see it, David didn’t beat Goliath with brute force — he beat him with aim, with strategy, with truth. And in this war of words we’re living through? A well-timed sentence can carry more weight than ten nuclear bombs.

You and I — if you’re my age — lived through one of the most volatile chapters in American history. And even through the chaos, there’s one thing I’ll never forget: how good people got when things went bad.

You remember that? When someone needed help, they could ask for it — and the people around them didn’t hesitate to show up?

Here’s one story I carry with me:

About 15 or 20 years ago — Lord, it feels like yesterday — I was driving in the cold when I saw a car pulled off to the side of the road. I stopped, rolled down the window, and asked if everything was alright.

Inside the car were two women, a man, and a two-month-old baby — and it was freezing. No heat. About 25 degrees, if that. They told me another man had already stopped and tried to help but didn’t have the tool to change the flat tire. He’d gone to find one and was supposed to come back.

I offered to keep the baby and one of the women warm in my truck while we waited. A little while later, the guy who had stopped to help showed back up — and it turns out, he and I knew each other from our volunteer firehouse.

Small world, huh?

We took a look at the car, but no dice. One of the lug nuts was stripped — like someone had tried channel locks on it — and there was no way that tire was coming off.

So we made a choice.

They lived 45 minutes away, and my little pickup truck was the only ride. So instead of heading where I was going, we went back — to our firehouse — and “borrowed” some turnout gear: fire coats, fire pants, blankets. The works. (For those who don’t know, those coats are thick enough to handle a burning building. And they’re hot — so hot, in fact, that I’ve come out of a fire before soaked to the bone with sweat, only to sit down outside for three minutes and freeze solid to the bench beneath me. Took three people to pry me loose. But that’s another story.)

Back to this night — the baby rode up front with me. The other four — including the guy who stopped to help — climbed into the open bed of my pickup, bundled up in fire gear and blankets. It wasn’t fancy, but it worked. We drove 45 minutes across the dark, frozen roads and got them home, safe and warm.

When we arrived, the woman came up to me, tears in her eyes, and said they didn’t have any money — not for gas, not for time.

And we said the only thing that made sense:

“We’re not looking for payment. We just wanted to get you home safe.”

That was it.

Today? That kind of thing would go viral. It’d be national news. “Local Heroes Rescue Family from Cold.” Headlines, hashtags, maybe even a GoFundMe.

But back then?

That was just Tuesday.

And that’s the world I want to live in again. Where people don’t wait for a camera to roll before doing the right thing. Where kindness isn’t rare — it’s expected. Where being a man isn’t about dominance or posturing, but about stepping up when it counts.

Not for likes.

Not for clout.

But because it’s right.

I tell this story not because it’s rare — but because it used to be normal. Back then, it didn’t matter who you voted for or what bumper sticker was on your car. We helped because help was needed. We didn’t check party lines before offering a blanket. We didn’t ask red or blue before cranking the heat.

These days, it feels like we’ve forgotten that we’re still neighbors — not enemies. We all want safety. We all want peace. We all want a future for the next generation that’s better than the one we inherited.

We just disagree on how to get there.

But if we can get back to a place where helping each other was just called Tuesday — maybe, just maybe, we can find our way forward again. Not with hatred. Not with noise. But with kindness. With hands extended, not fists clenched.

And maybe that’s how we win. Not with louder arguments — but with quieter decency.