Inside was a drawing in crayoned blocks.
A man with big ears and a bigger smile standing next to a glass jar full of green rectangles.
Over his head, in serious kid letters, it said Mr. O Mall E. Under it, three words: Thank you Neighbor.
I put the drawing in my wallet behind my pension card. The leather looked less tired pulling it shut.
That afternoon, I walked the twelve blocks I used to walk on duty. The sidewalk knew my stride.
The storefronts winked the way old friends do.
Outside the school, kids spilled out like a book’s last page falling open.
Two boys were arguing about whether raccoons could be villains. A girl waved a library card like a flag.
I do not believe the good old days were better.
We had different meannesses and different mercies.
But I know this.
You can make a day good.
You can tack it to the present tense and keep it from blowing away. You can leave a tab open that only gets paid in kindness and sturdy rugs and chapter books that go home in backpacks.
The cruelest takedown I saw this year used a phone.
The best rebuilding I saw used hands.
Hands to pass a jar. Hands to fold a letter. Hands to steady a teacher who was carrying more than she weighed.
The internet keeps asking for our attention like a toddler who has learned how to bang a pot.
The real world asks for our participation. I have only so much left to give, so I will give it where it turns into pages, and rugs without rashes, and coffee that tastes like community.
If you are watching, that is fine.
If you are filming, maybe set the camera down long enough to lend a hand. And if you cannot afford a hand, write a note.
We will spend it. We will spend it on tomorrow.
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This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment and inspirational purposes. While it may draw on real-world themes, all characters, names, and events are imagined. Any resemblance to actual people or situations is purely coincidenta
