To the mother of the boy who's in the eighth grade at Waterford School:

I don't know you and you don't know me. But I want to tell you a little story about your son (whom I also don't know, and who also doesn't know me). Here's what happened.

I stopped off at a garden center in Holladay because I am incapable of passing up any garden center I spy when out meandering. And even though I have absolutely NO ROOM left in my garden, I can never pass up buying another plant or two. Or three.

See that foxglove there? Surely I can find room for it in the front. And that daylily? I can put it in a pot out back.

No problem!

Except I actually DO have a problem now that I only have one good arm. A fact I keep forgetting. Which means I load up my little red wagon at garden centers, forgetting that somehow my left hand and I are going to have to get all those unnecessary (but really lovely!) flowers out to my car somehow.

Anyway.

I was paying for the plants when a teenage boy materialized at my side like a genie.

"Can I help you out with those?" he asked.

Normally when people ask if they can help, I say thanks but no. Who am I to waste their time doing something I can (and should!) do for myself?

Only this request came at the EXACT moment I had begun wondering how many trips it would take me to haul stuff out to my car.

So I said yes! Thank you! I think I love you!

The boy waited around as the clerk rang me up and I wrote a check with my completely. Useless. Left. Hand. (I know. I'm overusing periods these days.)

How long did it take me to write that check with my left hand? The teenage boy waiting for me could have been married and divorced three times.

Still, he waited.

On the way out to my car (finally!) I asked him some questions.

How old are you? Where do you go to school?

That's when I noticed how he was dressed. He was dressed like a regular kid — and NOT like an employee of the garden center. I stopped in my tracks.

"Do you even work here?"

He shook his head no.

"You just happened to notice I needed help," I went on.

He nodded.

"And I made you wait."

He shrugged. No big deal. What teenage boy wouldn't stick around to help an old lady with a cast carry flowers out to her car?

OK. I happen to believe the world is full of good kids. I know tons of them. But this young man's awareness of another person's needs struck me as unusual — and special.

So, Unknown Mom, that's why I'm writing you — to tell you something great about your son and to compliment you on raising him.

It's a tough job. Looks like you're doing it well.

Carry on.

e-mail: acannon@desnews.com