The Angel of the SouthPark Barnes & Noble – Charlotte Magazine

Leigh Robbins found a good reason to interrupt her years-long social media break: She needed to thank someone. But first, she needed to find them. 

Days earlier, Leigh was in the SouthPark Barnes & Noble with her autistic 5-year-old son. As they began to leave, he had a meltdown. He cried, pulled books from shelves, and refused to move. 

Autism can cause sensory overload, creating an emotional response so intense that it’s too much for a child to manage. Leigh says that when this happens to her son, people will, at best, look away. Sometimes, they glare or make fun. This time, however, a stranger approached and said, “It’s OK, I’m a teacher.” This woman told Leigh, “You’re doing great,” gently encouraged her son, and helped Leigh guide him to the door. Leigh looked back at the mess of books, but the teacher told her not to worry, she’d pick everything up.

“My son and I are so often seen as problems instead of people,” Leigh posted on Nextdoor. “To finally have someone step in who was so casual, but also calm and helpful means more to me than I can ever express … I would love the chance to thank you by name.”

Within a week, Leigh’s post garnered more than 17,000 views, nearly 900 likes, and more than 130 comments, all of them kind. Two readers found a clue in the post—the teacher was a mom of infant twins—that led them to the Barnes & Noble angel, Julia Noel. 

“I saw that Leigh thought she was alone in that moment, and I wanted to show her that she wasn’t,” says Julia, who’s taught neurodivergent students. “She and her son deserve to exist in our world and to go out to Barnes & Noble. Her son isn’t a problem, and he isn’t an inconvenience.”

When I talk with Julia and Leigh, who have reconnected, it feels like talking to lifelong friends. The women bonded over their unexpected parenthood turns—for one, an autism diagnosis, for the other, surprise twins. They encourage and sympathize with each other through conversations and texts. 

Julia Noel with her husband and twins

“Being a parent is letting go of those picture-perfect things you see in your mind and knowing that not every outing is going to be perfect,” Julia says as Leigh wipes a tear. “That doesn’t mean the outing wasn’t good. It just means that life is complicated.”

Why did this simple story stir such emotion on Nextdoor, an app known more for griping than gratitude? Many commented that the world needs more Leighs and Julias. Some followed that with a tough question: “What would I have done if I was there?”

I, too, wonder what I would’ve done. I hate that I don’t know. On a good day, I might’ve given Leigh a sympathetic smile, possibly helped with the books. On a busy day, I likely would’ve edged away. But on a bad day? Would I have judged? Felt annoyed? I hope not, but I’m one of about 17,000 people whose doubt over that question—coupled with what we now understand about the child’s experience—will likely inspire more generosity of thought and action.

I have a very different memory from that same Barnes & Noble of getting berated by a stranger. What he knew: I parked too close to his car. (It was true! My parking sucked!) What he didn’t know: I was there to buy a gift for a loved one about to enter hospice, and I barely held it together that day. His yelling was my tipping point. I adjusted my car, then bawled on my steering wheel. 

We go about our days bumping off each other like molecules. What about that moment when my day collides with yours, if just for a second? Who are we to each other then? What power do we have to help or hurt? I cringe to wonder how many times I haven’t acted my kindest to a stranger as they experienced their worst. 

When I go to that Barnes & Noble now, I’ll no longer think of Mr. Parking Enforcer but of Julia and Leigh. I’ll think of how one moment of generosity forged a friendship and made Nextdoor a neighborly place. It’s overwhelming to wonder what we could mean to those around us. And it’s even more overwhelming to wonder: Who remembers us, and for what?