Arvid Huisman.

In the nearly 10 years since I retired, I have worked to peel away the shell that built up around my heart during nearly 50 years of dealing with the public. Many jobs require an element of treating nasty people with a smile and that can lead to a calloused heart.

Thanks to a wife, who is a proponent of exercising grace, I have made some excellent progress. Memories of kindnesses shown have helped balance the past.

Meanwhile, in retirement, I enjoy reading newspapers during breakfast and I read several different publications each week.

So it was that I recently saw an obituary for an individual whose photo was vaguely familiar but whose name I recognized instantly. The obituary was for an 82-year-old man who was raised in a community in which I had lived as a youngster and who I remembered for a particular incident.

The circumstances of that memory quickly gathered into a vivid memory.

I’m guessing the year was 1955. We lived in the small farming community of Ellsworth, where my father worked for the local grain elevator. We lived in the block immediately south of the elementary school.

A year earlier, my parents purchased my first bicycle, a used 26 inch balloon-tired bike that was too large for my then six-year-old frame. I had to mount the bicycle from a tree-stump in our yard and dismount by tipping the bike into the grass and hoping for the best.

On this day, I had mounted the bicycle in our yard and rode away, apparently looking for something to do. I remember being on the north side of the school grounds where I had found something to do.

I don’t remember what exactly that was, but there were always some baby-boomer kids around, so I imagine it was to play with someone.

When that activity ended, I tried to remount my bike and ride away. Alas, without my trusty tree stump, I was unable to do that.

Just then, a teenager with whom I was somewhat familiar, apparently, saw my struggle, came out of his house and offered to help. That teenager was Roger Hudgins and I knew him because he was the son of my father’s boss.

I must have been about seven-years-old which would have made Roger around 14. When you are seven-years-old, you look up to teenagers and I thought Roger was cool. He kindly offered to hold up my bike, so I could climb aboard and ride away. I remember feeling good that this big kid was willing to help me. I hope I said “thanks” as I rode away.

I don’t recall interacting with Roger Hudgins again. Early the next year, Dad took a job with the grain elevator in the next town over and we moved there.

For reasons I cannot identify, I never forgot that little incident or the teenager who showed me a simple act of kindness.

That’s why when I saw what was probably Roger’s high school graduation photo and his name in the newspaper obituary, I recognized him all these years later.

Roger passed away in late March. The obituary stated that he had suffered injuries in an auto accident in 1970 that ended his career and he died in an assisted care facility in Cedar Falls.

The obit described him as “A kind gentleman…” I believe it!

Roger was buried in a cemetery just seven miles from his hometown.

He leaves behind his wife of nearly 65 years, two sons and three grandchildren. And he leaves behind a grateful guy who I’m sure he didn’t remember.

I share this anecdote as a reminder of the power of kindness.

Memories of Roger Hudgins’ very simple act of kindness to a chubby neighbor kid have remained alive in that chubby neighbor kid all these years.

Over my 75 years, many others have shown me kindness, but strangely none so memorable as the bicycle boost I got from Roger Hudgins.

As I grow older, I am trying to be more aware of the power of a kind word or a kind deed; even the simplest of kind deeds. (I confess I experience setbacks in traffic.)

The late Maya Angelou understood the importance of acts of kindness when she wrote, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”