I pulled into a rest area on I-15 northbound and noticed a young family. Mom was about eight months pregnant, and they had three little boys with them. They were on their way back home to Oregon. The kids were sitting on a boulder near my truck, and their parents were taking pictures. The boys had never been that close to a big rig before, so I invited them inside. Each one got to set the brakes, check things out, and of course, blow the air horn.
Later that evening, I took my dog for a walk and saw the family preparing to sleep in their small car. They didn’t have much—just a few jello cups and some water from the fountain. They were saving every dollar for gas to make it home. I keep cash for emergencies, so I went back to my truck, gathered it up, and quietly pulled the dad aside. I told him to take his family to the next town and get a hotel for the night.
The next morning, as I drove out, I saw them all standing on top of an overpass, waving at me with the biggest smiles.
A few months later, I received a letter in the mail. Inside it, they told me they had named their baby after me.
Credit goes to the respective owner of this beautiful story. ❤️