One of the most vivid memories I have of my dad as a little kid is this one time when he was the only one to stop.

We were driving, stopped at a red light on the corner of Rose Ave and Richmond Road. I know because I think of it every time I pass that spot.

An older man with white hair, who couldn’t have been more than 5’5, was hit by a random large falling branch. It fell and hit him in a way that he was pinned under it.

I remember my dad seeing it. I remember him yelling the s*** word more than he would have liked in front of us kids. (Natural reactions are hard though, right?)

He threw on the hazards, the emergency brake. He very quickly told my brother and I not to move in his serious voice.

We didn’t move, but we observed from open windows and open mouths. I saw my dad move the branch off of him and help the man up.

He made sure he was okay, and came back once the man insisted he didn’t want to go to the hospital or anything.

My dad didn’t say too much about it once back in the car. He just sounded relieved, you could hear it in his breath.

None of us said much after actually. We just drove home. We went about our day.

I was very young. I know from what car my dad had that I must have been under 5, but I remembered.

My dad was the only one who stopped, the silent hero.

Kids always learn more from what they see than what you say.

In the same situation, I’d like to think I’d be the one that stops.