🍫 Candy-Coated Kindness: Aisle 13 Edition

Last night, I did something brave. I went to the grocery store with my two kids—fresh off of preschool and kindergarten—at the end of a long workday, knowing full well we were all riding that chaotic wave of “just make it to bedtime.”

It wasn’t even a full grocery run—more like a survival sprint. Sub-$200, which in parent math means: “We didn’t even get juice boxes.” That’s mostly because my cart was only half groceries and half children who treated it like a jungle gym.

We chose a cashier lane this time (because juggling produce, coupons, and two cart-hopping kids at self-checkout felt like a guaranteed disaster). While I unloaded our modest haul onto the belt, a man stepped into line behind us. He looked like someone who could’ve been my dad—or at least someone from that same generation of helpful, dad-energy humans.

What struck me most wasn’t just his presence—it was the way he showed up. While most people in line are understandably checked out and staring at the gum rack with dead eyes, this man was absolutely beaming. Like, full-on, joy-sparking, light-up-the-aisle smiling. For no reason other than… joy.

He looked at me, then at my kids, and said, “Are your kids allowed to have candy?”

Already I wanted to hug him—not because of the candy, but because he asked me first. He didn’t just slide a lollipop into a small hand. He recognized the parent filter. The allergy alert. The “dinner is in 20 minutes” boundary. He asked. And that, my friends, is emotional intelligence in action.

When I said yes, he grinned even wider and said, “Would it be alright if I bought them a candy bar?”

My kids lit up like Christmas. My son, eyes huge, said, “Absolutely yes.” And just like that, Almond Joys entered the chat.

Then he said something even more brilliant: “You’re going to have to share it with your sister.”

He didn’t pivot and grab a second candy bar. He didn’t spoil them just because he could. He gently reinforced generosity—an unexpected reminder that kindness doesn’t have to mean excess.

And this stranger didn’t stop at sugar. He also offered up a genuine compliment: “They’re very well-behaved.”

Which, let’s be honest, I immediately received as a compliment for me. Because getting kids through a grocery trip without a meltdown is nothing short of wizardry.

The candy bar? Delightful.The smile? Contagious.The life lesson? Priceless.

On the drive home, we talked about all of it—how being kind and respectful sometimes comes back to you in ways you don’t expect. How generosity doesn’t always mean more. How joy is often passed from person to person like a two-piece Almond Joy—small, sweet, and better when shared.

So here’s to the nice man in line at checkout. You gave my kids a treat. You gave me hope for humanity. And you gave all of us a moment of grace that lingered longer than any sugar high.

Next time you’re out in the world—be someone’s Almond Joy.