The Neighbor Who Fixed My Fence

Last fall a windstorm knocked down half of my backyard fence. I'm a single mom with two kids and very little money, and I just stared at it for a week.

Then one Saturday morning, I heard hammering. My neighbor, a retired man named Desmond who I'd only ever waved to, was out there with his toolbox, rebuilding it with lumber he'd bought himself.

When I tried to pay him, he shook his head. "My wife and I raised four kids in that house," he said, pointing to his. "Somebody helped us a hundred times. My turn."

My kids helped him. He taught them to use a level and drive a nail. They called it "Fence Day." When it was done, my daughter painted a sign on one of the boards: "Built by Mr. Desmond and Us."

Now we have him over for dinner every month. The fence is the best one on the street.