The Kindness of a Stranger
When you’re not the one paying it forward. A feel-good true story.
I have always believed in paying it forward or simply doing something unexpected for someone, but this weekend I, or more precisely, my son, was on the receiving end of a kind action by a complete stranger.
I was in Winchester, a town founded by the Romans and once the capital of England, attending the Christmas Chalet market based around the ancient Cathedral that still dominates the skyline. My twelve year old son and myself took a walk into the town center, hand in hand, enjoying the ambiance.
Like many kids, including myself at that age, he is into Lego. Seriously into Lego. He simply can’t resist admiring it in shops and amending his ever changing wish list. His £3 a week pocket money is saved and almost exclusively spent on it. I have to admit, watching him race into our home with a new set to build after he has saved up for it, appreciating every brick placement and then playing with it, is a joy to behold.
We hadn’t gone there with any intention other than to see what we saw and to enjoy the cold, but sunny, afternoon’s atmosphere in the ancient streets. Being just before Christmas, the crowds were enormous, buskers lined the storefronts, and the traditional market stalls jostled for position on the cobbled roads. One of these stalls caught my son’s attention.
It sold all manner of nik-naks and, as far as I could tell, didn’t really specialize in anything. Toys, books and various colorful items covered the table tops and in front of one of them on the ground was a small, innocuous baskets of mixed goods. Inside this basket was a selection of a dozen or so poly bags of Lego.
A poly bag is a small, sealed plastic sachet of Lego with the contents shown, fully assembled, on the front. They were created by Lego some years ago as way of providing small kits for kids with a little pocket money to spend, but not quite enough for one of the larger sets.
In themselves, they have become collectible and Jed, my son, loves to do just that. Of course, being an advanced level builder it only take him seconds to assemble them, but each time he does, he’ll spend hours playing with them in extravagant worlds created by his childhood imagination.
We have always been strict about buying him, or his sister, items for the sake of it, and rarely do so. They receive their weekly £3 pocket money (as long as they complete their chores) direct onto a pre-paid debit card, and this money is theirs to spend how they wish, although they often ask for permission to do so. Jed, on this occasion, had managed to save the princely sum of £5.50 on his card and it was burning a hole in his pocket.
His excitement at finding this little basket of poly bags was palpable. He was talking quickly, taking each bag out of the container in turn and explaining the importance of each to me in great detail. I got down to his level, picked them out with him and listened intently to each explanation, helping him find the ‘really cool’ ones as I did so.
I looked up to inquire how much they were since there was no price on them and the rather unhelpful lady behind the stall informed him they were £5 each. She seemed irritated that I’d asked and promptly went back to her mobile phone screen. Clearly, she wasn't feeling the whole ‘Christmas spirit’ thing.
The bags were probably slightly more expensive than they should have been, but Jed was just happy that he would be able to afford one and set about selecting his choice for the day. He settled on a ‘Harry Potter’ set that he didn’t have and I embarked on my usual “Are you sure? That’s almost two week’s pocket money!” line of questioning, designed to ensure that he understood the value of money before he parted with it.
He was slightly hesitant, weighing up the opportunity cost of parting with almost his entire fortune in one go, but looked longingly at the pack while he did so.
At the same time, a lady, probably in her sixties and, in many ways, entirely unremarkable, was searching through the same container also looking at the poly bags. It was clear she had heard part of this conversation. We smiled at her and struck up a conversation.
Jed is an extremely polite and helpful young man and immediately set about helping the lady find the perfect choice. He asked her if she was looking for a gift and who it might be for. Children? Grandchildren? The answer was a surprise.
“Oh, it’s for my husband” she said “he makes lots of things and he likes to use Lego to test his builds.”
Jed, of course, thought this was fantastic and, based on this new information, made a couple of suggestions of things he thought might help and which ones presented good value for money. I got the distinct impression as our conversation unfolded that she didn’t have any children of her own, but through her husband, knew her stuff when it came to Lego.
By now, Jed and the lady were chatting away non stop. I’d stepped back at this point, enjoying and appreciating the moment where my son and a complete stranger had successfully navigated the gulf of reticence that so often exists between people who don’t know each other.
She wore grey trousers and a lime green fleece, and could never be described as ‘smart’, but she was also not scruffy. She simply appeared, like the rest of us, to be doing the best with what she had. There was also a serious disposition about her — she didn’t really smile, for example — but equally there was something kind about her demeanor.
Eventually, she selected her own poly bag based on Jed’s suggestion, and, although it wasn’t the perfect choice as she explained, it was definitely the best of the few that were there and would do the job. She went to pay a few steps away from where we were and, as she did so, Jed and I resumed our discussion about the one he had selected himself. The lady running the stall was still occupied with her mobile phone and seemed to be in no hurry to serve her.
However, out of the corner of his eye, Jed noticed a second basket at the other end of the stall containing more poly bags and darted towards it, clearly excited by his discovery and beckoning me over. He starter pouring through the selection and realized they were quite different from the ones he’d seen previously. After a few seconds, he looked up to where the lady was still waiting to be served, money in hand, and shouted to her.
“Excuse me, there’s more poly bags here! One of these might be better than the one you have!”
The lady quickly replaced the crisp five pound note back in her purse and came over to, once again, began the process of searching through the new selection. Within seconds found the one she had been looking for, replacing her original choice back in the box.
“Oh that one’s perfect!” she said “Thank you for telling me!”
“Oh, no problem” my son replied with his natural smile, clearly glad he could help. “Have a great Christmas!” he added as she walked away back to the counter at the stall. Jed resumed searching through the new possibilities and was ecstatic to find a ‘Cars 2’ model that he’d always wanted. It even trumped Harry Potter and the poor wizard was relegated to the bottom of the pile.
I wasn’t paying attention as the lady completed her transaction, but a few seconds later she walked past us to continue her route down the High Street.
“Young man, you pick whichever one you want, I’ve paid for it for you. Thank you for your help!”
Astonished, I turned to face the slightly-grumpy-mobile-phone obsessed stall lady who was still stuffing the two fivers into her money pouch as she gave an emotionless nod to confirm her story.
I turned back to the mysterious benefactor, but she was already melting into the crowd. Jed, momentarily stunned by the actions of this stranger, looked at me with wide eyes and instinctively placed his open hand on his chest, a move that instantly reminded me of his mum who was elsewhere in town with our daughter. There was a pause before he, and I, found our voices and shouted in unison after her:
“Thank you SO much! That was so kind! Thank you!”
The lady, still walking, turned and, for the first time, broke into a wide smile. She simply shouted back “Merry Christmas!” and was lost instantly into the crowd as she turned back to face her direction of travel. We didn’t see her again.
Jed and I looked at each other, still not quite sure what had just happened. He had just received a five pound gift from a compete stranger, bestowed without the thought, or even chance, of any reciprocation. She’d done it just because she’d wanted to.
I will admit I had suddenly became slightly tearful. It wasn’t just a piece of Lego, it was pure kindness, and my boy appreciated it in a way he couldn’t even express adequately. I was also immensely proud of him for fully understanding that was the case.
We confirmed our final choice with the lady behind the stall, evidently still unmoved by the whole thing but clearly satisfied with being ten pounds richer. As we walked off, I felt Jed’s hand finding mine. He still held his chosen poly bag and bought it up to his face occasionally to admire it.
We talked about what happened, and I had some grand speech about how the importance of seemingly small acts can have a disproportionate impact on people’s lives, but it was clear I wouldn’t need to deliver it. He already knew he needed to pay it forward, something we’d taught him from the youngest of ages.
“Daddy” he said “I’m never going to forget that. When I build it, I’m going to give it pride of place on my shelf and tell everyone the story.”
Before I could responded, he then added, once again looking at his beloved poly bag:
“And one day, I’LL be ‘the man in the queue’ just like she was.”
Of that, son, I have no doubt.
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