We were stranded. A tire blowout on the side of the highway — cars flying past, the wind from each one rocking our vehicle like a boat in rough water.

I had pulled over and tried to handle it myself. Got the jack out, got to work. But it wasn’t holding steady. Honestly, it felt like I was one misstep away from a disaster.

That’s when the highway patrol rolled up.

He stepped out calmly, taking in the scene in seconds. No rush, no lecture. Just presence. He looked at my jack, gave it a quick shake of his head — it wasn’t going to cut it.

Without a word, he turned back toward his cruiser.

Next thing I know, he’s pulling out his own jack. A proper one. Heavy duty. He brought it over, crouched down, and rigged it into place. Then he looked up at me and said something I’ll never forget:

“Watch my back. I gotcha.”

That hit different.

Here was a man — in full uniform, spotless, clean — laying down in gravel and dust beside a busy highway, just to help a stranger. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t try to supervise or direct. He got down on the ground and fixed the whole thing himself, start to finish.

Once the job was done, he stood up, brushed off his pants, and caught sight of the logo on my shirt.

“You a coach?” he asked.

I told him I was. Gave him the short version — where I coach, what I do. He smiled and said he was an exercise phys major too, back in college. UNC.

So we stood there. Two guys with way more in common than we expected, standing three feet from traffic, chopping it up like we were on the sidelines after a game.

Here’s the thing — I whispered to my wife to take a picture. Not because I wanted a pat on the back. Not because I thought he needed recognition.

But because this moment deserved to be remembered.

Because this man didn’t ask for thanks. He didn’t hand me a name, or badge number, or suggestion to post about him later. He just did what needed to be done. And from the way he moved, from the way he said “Watch my back,” I could tell this wasn’t unusual for him.

This was just who he is.

A man. A son. Maybe a father or a husband. And definitely, someone who serves in ways big and small — not for credit, not for clout — but because that’s what integrity looks like.

And it reminded me of something powerful:

You get what you expect.

You can expect the worst from the world — the rudeness, the hurry, the selfishness — and you’ll find it.
But expect the good? Expect compassion? Expect decency?

Sometimes you’ll get that too.
Sometimes you’ll get even better.

This was one of those times.