Owen discovered the dinosaurs while we were waiting for my mom to finish up in another area of Target’s toy aisle. They were all three distinct colors. He snatched them all up and held them to his tiny chest as if they were his most valuable belongings.

I squatted down beside him. “All right, buddy, you can choose one.”

He was thinking deeply and weighing his options when he abruptly turned away from me and said, “Hello!”

An older man was passing by when I turned. He paused, grinned, and turned to face Owen. “Hey, dear boy.”

Before I could respond, the man squatted down and began playing dinosaurs with Owen. He tapped the plastic figures together and made small growling noises. For a moment, my maternal instincts awoke—you never know these days. But he had a certain quality. Kind and gentle. So I let them a moment to play.

The man then took a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and placed it in Owen’s shirt pocket.

“You take this money and you buy this boy all three dinosaurs,” he urged in an impassioned voice.

I started to object, but then I noticed his expression. The little trembling of his lips. The sparkle in his eyes.

“Last week, I lost my two-year-old grandson,” he muttered. “He also adored dinosaurs.”

Before I could stop them, I felt the tears start.

He wiped his own eyes, rubbed Owen’s back gently, and turned to leave.

“Thank you!” He was called after by Owen.

With a little smirk, the man turned around one more time and yelled back, “Boomer Sooner!”

And he was gone in an instant.

As Owen embraced his dinosaurs, I stood in the center of Target, fighting back tears. Today, a stranger reminded me that kindness still exists in a world that feels so heavy most of the time.

As we completed our shopping, Owen proudly walked his dinosaurs to the register and insisted on giving the twenty-dollar money to the cashier himself. When I told her what had happened, she smiled warmly, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that man as we headed to the parking lot.

I felt compelled to take action, to somehow recognize his loss. It was more than the dinosaurs or the twenty dollars. It was about the gesture’s underlying affection.

After putting Owen to bed that evening, I shared what had transpired in a local Facebook group. I had low expectations. Just a few nice remarks, perhaps. However, the post received hundreds of reactions in a few of hours. People related personal tales of unexpected acts of charity and goodwill from complete strangers that had touched their hearts.

And then I noticed a comment.

According to my dad, he met a young boy today who made him think of my son. After returning home, he spent a considerable amount of time sitting quietly on the couch. I hadn’t seen him smile in days until now. I appreciate you allowing him to share that experience with you.

With my heart racing, I clicked on the profile. Lisa was the woman’s name. A bright-eyed young boy holding a plush dinosaur and beaming broadly was her profile image.

I gasped. Initially unsure of what to say, I messaged her. I decided on something straightforward: “Today, your dad gave my son a very special gift.” I sincerely apologize for your loss.

She answered almost instantly.

“I’m grateful. What that moment meant to him is beyond your comprehension. Caleb, my son, loved dinosaurs. Without him, my dad has been lost. However, he felt close to him once more today.

I sat there for a bit, feeling overwhelmed, and wiped at my eyes. “Owen sleeps with his dinosaurs now,” I typed back. His new favorites are these. We shall always carry your son’s memory with us.

Lisa added, “My dad’s name is Frank,” after responding with a heart emoji. I simply felt you ought to be aware.

I kept thinking about Frank for weeks after that. About how love can occasionally find a way to temporarily or permanently fill the deep, aching voids left by loss.

Owen, who still carried one of his dinosaurs with him everywhere he went, and I went back into Target a month later. On our way to the toy section, I noticed someone I knew. Frank was there, standing close to where he had first seen Owen that day.

I didn’t hesitate this time. When I approached him, he glanced over in surprise, then grinned as realization dawned.

He glanced down at Owen, who was already displaying his dinosaur, and whispered softly, “Hey there.” “You still adore those dinosaurs?”

Owen gave a hearty nod. “I love this one the most!”

Frank’s eyes gleamed once more as he laughed. I put a soft hand to his arm. “I just wanted to thank you once more.” Additionally, Owen would love to play dinosaurs with you if you ever come.

He nodded after taking a deep swallow. “That would be nice.”

A small act of compassion quickly grew into something more significant. A link. A reminder that love only changes form rather than vanishes. It occasionally returns to us in the most unlikely locations.

Share this tale with someone who needs a gentle reminder that good deeds are still possible if it moved you. ❤️