12/01/2025
My son offered a mailman a glass of water — the next day, a red Bugatti pulled up at his preschool.
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It was one of those blistering Midwest afternoons when the air itself felt heavy. My son, Eli, was drawing chalk dinosaurs on the driveway. "Mom," he said, "why's that man walking so slow?"
A mailman — tall, older, gray hair slick with sweat — was trudging along, mailbag dragging behind him.
Across the street, Mrs. Lewis snorted, "GOOD LORD, I'D DIE BEFORE I LET MY HUSBAND WORK A JOB LIKE THAT."
Her friend laughed. "HE LOOKS LIKE HE'S ABOUT TO DROP DEAD!"
Another neighbor yelled, "HEY BUDDY, MOVE IT! MAIL WON'T DELIVER ITSELF!"
Eli frowned. "MOM, WHY ARE THEY BEING SO MEAN? HE'S JUST DOING HIS JOB."
Before I could answer, he ran inside. Seconds later, he came back clutching a Paw Patrol cup full of ice water and his favorite candy bar.
"Here, mister," he said shyly. "You look thirsty."
The man blinked. "Oh, buddy… that's mighty kind."
Eli grinned, "Mom says when someone works hard, they deserve a break."
The man chuckled, eyes wet. "You just made my day, kid."
The next day, as I picked Eli up from preschool, a red Bugatti rolled down our quiet street.
EVERY NEIGHBOR PEEKED OUT. It stopped right in front of US.
The door opened— and the mailman stepped out.
Tailored suit, silver hair slicked back.
Eli gasped. "Mom! It's him!"
The mailman chuckled and looked at me. "Could I talk to Eli for a minute?"
I nodded.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a SMALL BOX. ⬇️
