It was the night of the parade of lights... mere two hours earlier I had navigated the sea of cars and testy traffic cops, running almost an hour late for a celebration dinner. I was just about at the end of my rope, cursing and sweating - shaking my fist at all things tinsled and "merry" - when I found the parking spot I did just mere blocks away from the resto.

In my holiday-unaffiliated-joy, I must have left the lights on. It may also have had something to do with wanting to run, run as fast as I could, away from the crowd and overwhelming holiday music. I'll admit: I'm a bit of a Christmas grinch. I tell you this not to raise the ire of the "Christ-back-in-Christmas" crowd, but to paint a picture of my car-related experience thus far that evening. It wasn't swell. See aforementioned sweating, cursing and fist-shaking.

Regardless - returning to our car after a well companied, but poorly plated dinner, we all piled in, buckled up... and of course: The car wouldn't start. It was a Friday night and I could just about taste the impending hot mess about to drunkenly descend on downtown. I just wanted to be home - away from it all... but my chariot was clearly failing me.

I dug the jumper cables out of the trunk, and began wishing on stars for some sign of human decency in the form of a friendly stranger willing to boost our battery. One of my friends went into a resto to find help - and found none. Another started to flag down a cab, but past experience told me they'd charge an arm and a leg (Scrooge and I have a few things in common, you can add miserly to the list). I was just beginning to make a list of friends I could call to come rescue us when....

there you were!! I saw you spot us, look at your watch, glance at your destination and consider: "should I stop to help?"

One of my crew (maybe it was me?) dared implore your help. And though not all too enthusiastically you acquiesced. You walked back down that hill, got your car, drove to meet us and boosted not only my car's battery, but also my faith in humanity on a surly Friday night in Halifax.

Thank you thank you thank you.

So this is sort of the opposite of a Dear John letter - not the long fabled break up letter left on the mantle. Instead, the regret we feel is that the friends who found you dreamy and charming didn't invite you to join us at their upcoming housewarming party.

Whether our paths cross again or no - you are a fine upstanding member of our community. Thanks for helping a crew of strangers. You're lovely! —uplifted

I would like to say to 90% of the bus drivers out there, thank you for returning a smile, thank you for stopping for me when I was careless and at the stop in time, thank you for helping me to figure out where I am going, and thank you for being friendly every morning at 6am when I caught the bus to go to work in the summer. Thank you for all of the hard work you do, and thank you for remembering who I am even when you see countless faces in a day. —Student who busses every day

And astoundingly, i gave you a grateful wave of thanks, you smiled and waved back instead of flipping me off like I deserved.

What you didn't know was that in the car with me that day were my best friend and my young niece. You not only bailed out my sorry hide but my precious cargo as well.

Including you, you saved at least four lives that day. Sir, you are a gentleman and a scholar. And an artist. I wish I had gotten your plate numbers so I could thank you properly. Because that was some fucking heroic driving right there.

Happy holidays friend. I hope they're wonderful! —Alive!