Yesterday, I took my 8-year-old twins to the brand-new ALDI in town. I probably should’ve left them at home—because the moment we got inside, they transformed into tiny tornadoes. Screaming. Running. Acting like they had never set foot in a grocery store before. I was exhausted and embarrassed, juggling my list, my cart, and trying not to lose my sanity.
We finally made it to the checkout line, where I stood behind a quiet older gentleman. He looked down at my kids, then at me, and asked gently, “Are they yours?”
I paused, half-laughing, half-gasping, unsure whether to admit it. “Yes,” I finally said, preparing for judgment.
But instead, he smiled and said, “You’re doing a great job with them.”
That simple kindness nearly brought me to tears.
I glanced at his cart. It wasn’t the usual weekly shopping—just jars of banana peppers, jalapeños, sugar, and syrup. Curious, I asked, “What are you making with all that?”
His eyes lit up.
He told me he lost his wife last year, and since then, he’s taken up making salsa. Said he makes nearly 1,000 jars every summer. Stocking up on supplies now because ALDI has the best prices—he keeps a close eye on the weekly ads.
His neighbors bring him tomatoes, since he can’t manage a garden on his own anymore. “I also dabble in jams,” he added with a chuckle.
I suggested he should set up a booth at the local farmer’s market. But he shook his head.
“Oh no,” he said, “I don’t sell it. I just do it for the joy. Keeps me busy. Makes people smile.”
I wanted to give him roses and flowers like everyone’s doing for strangers lately—but honestly, I could barely wrangle my feral twins out of the store without losing one in the parking lot.
When we finally made it to the car, I saw him parked in the space next to ours. He called out, “Ma’am! Could you come here a sec?”
I thought he might need help with his bags. But instead, he reached into his front seat and said, “I have something for you.”
It was a jar of his homemade salsa.
I stood there holding it, stunned. I can’t even remember the last time someone gave me something so heartfelt and unexpected. He told me where I could find him this summer if I wanted more—and to bring the kids with me.
I thanked him, shook his hand, and fought back tears. Just six months ago, I lost my grandfather—my rock. And something about this man, the quiet strength, the kindness, the gentle way he spoke—it felt like my grandpa had sent me a little message through him.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, I noticed a sticker on the back of his car: Korean War Veteran.
I stood there holding a jar of salsa, two noisy kids in tow, and felt deeply moved. In a chaotic, noisy world, this man reminded me what grace and generosity look like. A true hero—not just for serving his country, but for serving kindness where it’s needed most.
