Many years ago, I was in band in high school. We were raising money for a trip to play at a festival at a famous theme park by selling chocolate bars.

I stopped by the house of a family friend, and the woman agreed to buy a few. Her young daughter, around three or four years old, happened to witness the transaction and, having found a dollar bill lying around the house somewhere, insisted on giving that to me, too. 

Nothing Mom or I could say would dissuade her from her newfound mission of handing the dollar bill to me. I didn’t want to put Mom on the hook for any more chocolate than she’d already agreed to buy.

Suddenly, inspiration struck!

I gave Mom a knowing look and accepted the money, thanking the girl. Then, I reached back into my pocket and pulled out a different dollar bill. “Here’s your change!” I told her, offering it to her. She took it happily and toddled back off into the house, presumably to wherever she’d found the money in the first place.

I was waiting to check out at the local supermarket, and the woman at the front was getting a bit confused about money and how it all worked. I overheard another person with her guiding her, and I realised that she was a refugee, newly arrived in our country.

She had the most adorable baby with her and was just buying basic items. The older lady in front of me, next in line, started cooing at the baby and making her giggle.

Cashier: *To the refugee woman* “I’m afraid you don’t have enough money. Do you want to put something back?”

Older Lady: “Don’t you worry; it’s on me!”

She added some bananas.

Older Lady: “For the baby!”

She paid for the whole lot, and the refugee woman was nearly in tears, she was so surprised. We made a big fuss over the adorable baby, and I hope it helped that nice lady feel welcome!

My restaurant is mostly known as a breakfast and lunch spot and has been a local staple since the sixties. Day shifts can be brutal here because we get slammed more often than not. 

By the time 1:00 pm rolls around, I’m starting to be over it, having been there since 8:00 am and going nonstop. That’s when I have a party of three seated in my section: a mom and two girls, probably about eight years old.

Mom: “[Girl #1], tell the server your order.”

She does so.

Mom: “Okay, [Girl #2], it’s your turn to order.”

It turns out that the little girl and I have the same name. I always give tables my name at the end of ordering because they seem to remember it better that way, so after Mom orders, I say:

Me: “My name is also [Girl #2]! Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

The little girls’ faces lit up. From that point on, every time I was at the table, they called me by my name and giggled with excitement. Mom let them do all the talking and make all the requests from then on since they were having so much fun. Any time I glanced over to keep an eye on the table, they were peeking over the top of the booth at me. It was so cute.

When they asked for boxes at the end, I wrote, “Stay awesome,” and, “Stay amazing,” with hearts on the tops of the boxes so that they would see it and be surprised as they closed the boxes. They loved it and jumped up and asked me for a hug.

On their way out of the restaurant, they stopped at the drink station and asked me for my autograph. I signed the boxes, and they were over the moon about it. They giggled and glanced back at me the whole way out of the restaurant.

It was truly one of my favorite experiences after working in restaurants for seven years and absolutely the best thing to help me get through a long shift.

Years ago when I worked as a museum educator, I was running a drop-in gallery program. A small girl around five years old confidently approached me and leaned on my table like she was about to smoothly order a drink at a bar. 

Little Girl: “I like this museum, and I would like to work here.”

I was about to play along and ask her if she knew a lot about history when a woman, presumably her mom, appeared behind her

Woman: “No, honey! You can’t work at the museum! Remember…?”

And this little girl sighed, eye-rolled, and said:

Little Girl: “I know, I know! Child labor laws!”

I sensed that they’d had that discussion before. I think that kid is going places!

A mother and her son (about eight years old) came in, wanting to buy a stone statue. They asked if we could set it aside so they could get it on their way home. Noticing that the boy was very eager for this purchase, I turned to him.

Me: “Of course! I just need a name and phone number.”

Boy: “My name is [Boy].”

Mother: *Smiling and whispering* “Oh, and my phone number is [number].”

Me: “Great! Do you want me to wrap it up so it is protected while you are away?

Mother: “What do you say, [Boy]? Should she wrap it?”

Boy: “It is not a present; it is for me.”

Mother: “Yes, but this is just to protect it so it doesn’t break.”

Boy: “Oh.” *Turns to me and answers firmly* “Yes!”

I did so and put the note with the name and number on it. Later that day, the boy came back.

Boy: “I have a package set aside. My name is [Boy].”

I gave it to him and told him the total, and he paid with what I assumed was his mother’s card. We exchanged all the normal platitudes, and as he walked away, I noticed his mother waiting by the door, smiling proudly.

It is always nice to see kids so happy that they can do things themselves.