I STOPPED TO HELP AN OLD MAN INTO A RESTAURANT, AND HE CHANGED HOW I SEE MY DAD.
I STOPPED TO HELP AN OLD MAN INTO A RESTAURANT, AND HE CHANGED HOW I SEE MY DAD.
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A short pizza run was planned. After a long shift at the shop, my hands were greased, and all I wanted was a large pepperoni and my couch. But I observed an older guy at the sidewalk edge as I pulled into the lot. He tried to climb the curb outside Salerno’s with a metal cane that clinked with every step.
He was ignored as people rushed in and out with takeaway bags. Maybe shame or instinct made me stop, but I rolled down my window and asked, “You need a hand?”
He looked astonished and nodded. Smiled without speaking.
I parked, jogged, and extended my arm. He clutched it harder than intended. We proceeded slowly, and I noticed his shoes were enormous, clunky orthopedic ones with Velcro straps like my dad’s. I saw this strange vision of Dad in our kitchen trying to open a jar, becoming upset, and pretending not to.
The hostess greeted the old man like she knew him when I brought him in. “Hey, Mr. Benning, usual table?”
He laughed and said, “Not alone today.”
He looked at me and asked, “You hungry, son?”
Not knowing what to say. I hadn’t planned to remain, but his words suggested it wasn’t just about the pizza.
A cozy corner booth was our seat. Garlic bread and fresh basil smelt so good in the restaurant that I forgot how exhausted I was. Without asking, Mr. Benning ordered us two margheritas. It was strangely soothing, like he knew I wouldn’t protest.
“You’re probably wondering why I invited you,” he added after we settled in. His friendly speech hid a somber undertone.
“Yeah, kinda,” I said. “Thanks for the food, but…
He interrupted me with a hand. Let me start with a story. Ever heard of ‘pay it forward’?
I shrugged. Of course I’d heard it. Everyone has. It felt odd coming from him, sitting across from me in his tattered cardigan sweater.
“My boy used to say that all the time,” Mr. Benning said. “Whenever I thanked him for something nice, he’d smile and say, ‘Nah, just pay it forward.’” I think he was looking through me, as his eyes softened. “That kid matured fast. Too fast. He worked two jobs while in school to aid me in challenging times.”
I nodded, unsure of the direction but feeling obligated to listen. I recognized my dad’s pride and sadness in his speech.
“One day,” Mr. Benning said, “he stopped to help a stranger change a tire on the road. Never doubted it. However, after that week… He swallowed deeply, pausing. A drunk driver hit him later that week. Died instantly.”
Air felt heavier thereafter. Not knowing what to say. Sorry? Thanks? None felt right.
“He always believed in paying it forward,” Mr. Benning remarked, breaking the stillness. “Now, well… To preserve his spirit. So I give back when someone helps me, like getting an old man into a restaurant.
I blinked, understanding him. The invitation and free pizza were planned. It was planned. I instantly had a lump in my throat.
Mr. Benning insisted on walking me to my car after supper. I offered to drive him home, but he declined. “Nope. My ride is coming. Plus, I live down the street.”
He took a tiny envelope from his coat pocket as we stood beside my car. “Take this,” he whispered, putting it into my hand.
What’s it? Confused, I asked.... (continue reading in the 1st comment)