Singing the Song of an Unsung Hero

You are about to be introduced to one of my unsung (adjective: not celebrated or praised) heroes, and he, by his request, will remain nameless.

We were eating dinner one night. I think we were at Thai food. I love Thai food. We were chit-chatting, and I remember thinking how neat it was to hear his well-educated opinions; initially he had seemed so rough around the edges. At some point during dinner, we started talking about Colette, a love of my life and my sister. She was coming home from her mission that February. "Why aren't you going home to see her?" Simple question, simple answer. "I just don't have the money." I was broke, which wasn't a problem; it just was what it was, and I had accepted it. He kept shaking his head, telling me how tragic it was I wasn't going home. It was impressively genuine, and it spun my perception of him.

Later that night, I opened my e-mail account and saw an airline ad; it was selling tickets from BWI to MHT. I thought, "Whoa! Technology is so impressive. How does it know that's exactly when I want to go to New Hampshire?!" Then a moment of realization. I looked closer and saw it was a ticket confirmation—my ticket confirmation. He had bought me a ticket home.

Fumbling for my phone, which I can never find in my purses, so ridiculous, I called him and thanked him the best way I knew how. I told him I'd pay him back as soon as I could. He was so embarrassed and a little upset: that wasn't his intention. He explained why it would be wrong if I paid him back. I couldn't argue.

There's a reason why this touches my heart so much: this was true human caring. There were no strings attached; I knew it. What he doesn't realize is that every time I see him, for a split second, I zone out of the lighthearted chit-chat at fhe or the low roar in the cultural hall during munch-and-mingle, and I experience a quiet respect for a man I consider a true gentleman.