Recently, my partner and I faced an unusually late work night. During the drive home, he reminded me that we hadn’t made it to the grocery store over the weekend, leaving our pantry nearly empty—save for some cat and dog food, two remnants of a loaf of bread, and half a jar of cookie spread.
“I can swing by a fast-food place,” I suggested, “I know it’s not our favorite, but the kids enjoy it, and it’s quick and inexpensive.” He agreed, leading me to the drive-thru of a restaurant I typically avoid due to concerns about health, ethical sourcing, and environmental impact.
After placing an order that seemed to overload the system, I was instructed to wait for my food. As I began to roll up my manual window—a budget-friendly choice—an older gentleman approached my car.
“Did they happen to give you any extra food?” he inquired.
“No, not yet,” I responded.
“That’s alright, ma’am. God bless you and have a great night,” he said before walking away to sit beside a tattered bag that looked like it had been there since the 70s.
In the backseat were two of our three kids, Ethan (14) and Lily (10). Almost immediately, Ethan said, “Mom…”
“Yeah, Mom…” Lily echoed.
“I know, we’re waiting for our food. Ethan, can you take care of this?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, taking a $10 bill from me and heading toward the man.
With the window still down, I heard him say, “Let’s get you some dinner,” as they both went inside. A few moments later, an employee brought out our order, and Ethan returned to the car with change.
As we exited the parking lot, I thanked Ethan, and Lily chimed in, “I hope he finds somewhere warm to sleep.”
“Me too, sweetheart,” I replied.
“But at least he isn’t hungry anymore,” she added.
“Exactly,” I affirmed, “at least that.”
This moment fills me with pride regarding our children. They may not be the most academically gifted, athletic, or organized, but they possess an incredible capacity for compassion. They see “we” instead of “them” or “us,” and they view the world in shades of gray rather than black and white.
They engage with current events, asking questions and striving to understand the complexities of life, despite my reminders that much of it is perplexing. Their desire for love and justice reflects the hopes I harbored at their age, aspirations that sometimes faded with adulthood.
While many lament the future of this generation, I see promise in my children. They embody compassion not because we lectured them about it or assigned readings, but because we modeled it in our actions.
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In summary, our actions resonate louder than our words, shaping the values and behaviors of our children more profoundly than any lecture ever could.