Birmingham, Alabama—the mall. Two kids. They were lost. Brother and sister. Black hair. Dark eyes. Mexican.
Keith found them. They were wandering, holding hands. They wore concerned looks. He sensed something was wrong.
“I got four kids,” says Keith. “I have a feel for these things.”
He approached them. He kept his voice cheery. He asked if they were lost. They couldn’t understand him.
No problema. Keith almost majored in college Spanish.
“Are you lost?” He asked in Spanish.
As it happened, they’d lost their father. They’d been hiding from him in the department store. They were only playing a joke, it was supposed to be a game. It became a disaster.
They were too scared to ask for help because their father wasn't legal.
Keith promised he wouldn’t alert authorities. Instead, he searched the mall.
No luck. So, he bought the kids supper. Then he gave them a ride. The little girl rode in the front seat, guiding him through traffic by memory.
Turn here, turn there, take a right at the light.
She led him straight to her aunt’s apartment. Her mother and aunt came running. Tears
Lots of tears.
Charleston, West Virginia—Amy rode her bike to the school-bus stop. She was minding her business like a good eleven-year-old.
A boy was dropped there by his father. He was new to the neighborhood.
The boy had an asthma attack. His inhaler was empty. His face went pale. Amy kept calm—though, I don’t know how.
She helped the boy onto her bicycle seat. She jumped on her pedals hard.
“Hold tight!” she said.
He wrapped his arms around her while she sped to his house—a half-mile away.
Nobody was home. He couldn’t find his key. She broke a window. She gave him a breathing treatment. It worked.
They still made the bus in time.
Knoxville, Tennessee—Billy was shopping with his wife. Actually, he was…