Diana Federman lives in Southampton, Mass.

“I knew it was the police when I saw the no-caller ID,” my son said. 

It was after 11 p.m.  He had just eased off his work boots and was sitting beside the wood-burning stove after many hours of snow-plowing. In one day, Mother Nature had dumped almost 2 feet of snow on his part of rural Maine. 

He had been out most of the night before, too. The snow was beautiful, powdery and soft, drifting in huge, glistening mounds. But at age 36, my son had enough experience to know that such weather could also be dangerous. Outside, the temperature was minus 3. He answered the phone.

It was the county sheriff, who said the department had gotten a medical alert for a 93-year-old man. He went to the address, but the driveway was long and hadn’t been plowed. He couldn’t get in. Could my son help?  

One last look at the fire, then he pulled on his boots, grabbed his winter gear, said goodbye to his wife, and headed out. 

He knew the road, about 15 minutes away. The sheriff was waiting in a cruiser when he arrived.  He turned on his truck floodlights and went to work, lowering his plow to push and pull the hills of snow. The scraping and banging rang out in the silent cold. Gradually he cleared a path, and the sheriff drove up to the house.

My son waited in his truck cab, the heater blasting. The moon was bright and illuminated the small home, almost engulfed by the snow. What’s it like to be 93 and live there alone, he wondered. It’s Maine, he thought. Folks are tough.

In a few minutes, the sheriff came out. Took a while for the man to come to the door, he said, but the fellow was alright. False alarm. Didn’t even know he’d activated his emergency monitor. 

The sheriff pulled out his wallet to pay. My son declined, said he was glad to do it. He asked how the sheriff knew to call him.

“Your name came up,” the sheriff said. I listened as my son told this story. 

“What did he mean?” I asked. I know my son works hard at his business, all kinds of heavy machinery tasks. The sheriff must have heard he does a good job, I thought.   

Turns out, it was more than that. My son snowplows for veterans and the very old for free. He demolished a derelict building at no cost for a struggling family. He didn’t charge for the work he did for a woman with cancer. He donates to fundraisers at the local school. Not to mention, he and his wife have taken in seven stray cats. 

My mind went back to the little boy who loved to play with Tonka trucks and always had a soft spot for the underdog. I could still see that child in this 6-foot-5 giant of a man.

“I’m proud of you,” I said.

“I was raised right,” he answered. “Obviously.”

But wait, how did he know that a no-caller ID on his phone meant the police? 

“I learned that from the game warden,” he said. “The hard way.”

Some questions a mom just shouldn’t ask. Obviously.