Clyde loves fried chicken.
Clyde also loves mascots.
And, perhaps most importantly for this story, Clyde has always had a weakness for collecting random things that have absolutely no practical purpose but come with a good story.
So the 2013 Chick-fil-A Bowl at the Georgia Dome was already very much Clyde’s kind of evening.
Then midnight approached.
As part of the New Year’s celebration, stuffed Chick-fil-A cows attached to little parachutes began floating down from the rafters of the Georgia Dome.
This immediately became extremely important.
Clyde wanted a cow.
Not in the casual sense of, Hey, that would be neat.
Clyde wanted a cow.
Several were drifting in his general direction, and Clyde began tracking them on the way down. Clyde considers himself something of a master of geometry, particularly when geometry involves catching free merchandise falling from the ceiling of a football stadium.
One cow looked promising.
Then very promising.
Then, as it descended, Clyde became convinced that this particular parachuting cow was coming directly to him.
He stood as tall as he could.
Then he went up on his toes.
Then he started climbing onto his seat.
The cow floated lower.
Clyde reached.
Closer.
Closer.
And then—
It sailed just beyond his outstretched fingers and drifted into the rows behind him.
Devastation.
Clyde was sad.
Clyde’s friends were sad.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity had just witnessed a grown man invest a surprising amount of emotional energy into catching a stuffed Chick-fil-A cow dressed for New Year’s Eve and football, only to miss it by inches.
The dream was over.
Then someone tapped Clyde on the shoulder.
And tapped again.
Clyde turned around.
Standing behind him was an elderly gentleman with his wife.
The man was holding the cow.
“I think you wanted this more than me.”
And he handed it to Clyde.
That was it.
He didn’t make a production out of it. He didn’t know Clyde. Clyde didn’t know him. Clyde wasn’t a child, so there were no easy points to be earned by giving a disappointed kid a toy.
The man had simply been paying attention.
He had watched Clyde tracking that cow through the air. He had seen the reaching, the stretching, the standing on tiptoes, and presumably the questionable decision to begin climbing stadium furniture.
And when the cow happened to land near him, he understood something very small:
It would mean more to Clyde.
So he gave it to him.
Clyde still has that cow.
Nearly thirteen years later, it sits proudly in a display case near Clyde’s considerably oversized desk.
Clyde has no idea whether that gentleman or his wife ever thought about the moment again. They may have forgotten it before the week was over.
Clyde never did.
And that may be the most important part of the story.
We tend to think kindness has to be large to matter. A major sacrifice. A grand gesture. Something worthy of recognition.
Usually it isn’t.
Sometimes kindness is simply noticing.
Noticing what somebody cares about. Noticing when somebody could use a hand. Noticing that you have something another person would value far more than you do.
And then taking a few seconds to act on it.
A man Clyde never met before and never saw again gave away a stuffed cow that probably meant almost nothing to him.
More than a decade later, Clyde still sees that cow and remembers the man who gave it to him.
The smallest things we do for other people can last considerably longer than we ever get to know.
Clyde Foods is not affiliated with, endorsed by, or sponsored by Chick-fil-A, Inc. Chick-fil-A and related marks belong to their respective owner.