Barry turned eight today. I wanted to make it special, but money’s tight. I managed to take him to a local diner for burgers—no dessert. When the waitress asked, Barry quickly said, “I’m full,” even though I knew he wasn’t.
That’s when a man at the next table, a ranger named Timmons, offered to buy him cake. Barry politely declined. “I wanna save the wish,” he said. Last year he wished for a bike and didn’t get it. He didn’t want to wish again unless he thought it might come true.
Timmons smiled and paid for the cake anyway. Barry looked to me—I nodded. A slice of chocolate cake arrived with a single candle. Barry closed his eyes, made his wish, and blew it out.
Then came the real surprise.
Timmons asked us to wait. Twenty minutes later, a truck pulled up with another ranger—and a brand-new red bike. Donated. Waiting for a home. Barry stood in shock. “It’s mine?” he asked. Timmons smiled. “All yours.”
Barry rode in happy circles, laughing. I couldn’t hold back the tears. That night, as I tucked him in, he whispered, “Maybe next year, I’ll wish for something for you.”
Kindness. Hope. A child’s quiet strength. And a wish come true.
