I Stopped to Help an Old Man Into a Restaurant — And He Changed How I See My Dad
It was supposed to be a simple night: finish up at the shop, grab a pizza, and collapse on the couch. My hands still smelled like motor oil, my back ached from under-the-hood work, and all I wanted was peace.
But then I saw him.
An elderly man stood at the edge of the sidewalk outside Salerno’s Pizzeria, gripping a metal cane that clicked with every slow, deliberate step. He was trying to navigate the curb, but his legs were stiff, his balance uncertain. People rushed past — some didn’t even glance his way.
Something in me paused.
I rolled down my window and called out, “Need a hand?”
