UPS driver is brought to tears after learning why cars were lined up and down the road See the continuation in the first comment 👇

The COVID-19 pandemic affected everyone, in one way or another. And as we hope those tough times are behind us, we can never forget how devastating the past couple of years have been for most of us. Many businesses were forced to shut down, and as a result, many people lost their jobs and even ended on the streets.
And as we all praised doctors and medical workers for their job well done against the virus, the residents of a Virginia neighborhood remembered to show their gratitude to a person holding another vital profession during the pandemic, the UPS driver who always made sure to deliver their goods on time while they stayed home and kept themselves protected.

The USPS, FedEx, and UPS workers helped keep America’s economy alive, although not many spoke about their hard work and sacrifice during the tough times for the humanity.
Anthony Gaskin, a UPS driver, was on his regular route when he noticed an unusual sight. A number of cars were lined up and down the road. He had no idea what could be going on until he saw two children holding posters with the message, “Hallsley loves you, Anthony.” The rest of the people waved and cheered and that’s when Anthony learned that they had done all this just for him.
These people felt that Anthony deserved to be recognized for everything he had done for them during the pandemic.

“Even though his truck does not have sirens and his uniform does not offer added fire protection, Anthony Gaskins is considered a hero in the Hallsley neighborhood,” Patty Friedman later wrote in an email to WTVR. “Through COVID, Anthony has continued working, delivering packages at our doors, record numbers of them, over 180 times to date.
“I wanted to thank him personally for how much he helped me feel welcome when I moved in during a pandemic,” she added. “It was terribly lonely, and he was always the highlight of my day.”
Needles to say, Anthony was brought down to tears and was glad for the gratitude he was offered.

“Arriving on bikes, on foot, and in more than 75 cars, hundreds of Hallsley residents lined the road and waited for Anthony to turn the corner,” Patty told WTVR. “A humble man, he needed to be coaxed, but eventually, slowly drove his truck down the road while children and adults held up signs, screamed his name, honked their horns, and rang bells. Gaskins’ supervisors even showed up to present him with a gift.”
We believe that this has been a well-deserved gesture for everything Anthony and his colleagues are doing for their communities.
For more go to the video below.

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…