When I was 8, my dad started leaving the house early on weekends, telling me he had “errands.” Curious, I followed him one morning. He drove to a rundown building downtown and disappeared inside. I waited, my heart racing, imagining all sorts of secrets.
Finally, I peeked through a window and saw him kneeling in front of a group of kids, handing out sandwiches and playing games. When he returned home, I confronted him, “What were you doing?” He paused, then smiled, “Just helping some friends.”
Years later, I learned those kids weren’t just random strangers; they were the very kids he’d secretly helped all along, and they had helped him stay connected to the community he’d grown up in but never wanted to share with us. He’d been showing me kindness in a way I’d never expected.
