(I work at a petting zoo which has emus. Emus are big and scary-looking, but ours are friendly and enjoy treats. However, they’re occasionally over-eager, and if you hold food on your flat hand, they might accidentally get your skin with a peck. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s uncomfortable. For that reason, I give kids lettuce to give to them, instead of their usual pellet treats, since you don’t have to use your flat hand.)

Boy: “We’re out of lettuce. Can I feed them those?” *points at buckets of pellets nearby*

Me: “Are you sure? We just need to make sure your mum is okay with it. Sometimes they do peck a bit harder than they mean to, so it can pinch.”

(The kid is very eager, and the mum gives us the go-ahead, so I help the kid hold out his treats. Shortly, this happens.)

Boy: “He pinched my hand!” *starts to cry*

Boy’s Mother: “Wow, isn’t that cool?! You got a kiss from the emu!” *to me* “Can I have a treat? I want an emu kiss, too.”

Boy: *suddenly stops being upset* “Wow! I got an emu kiss! Can I feed them again?”

(Great parenting, and unlike with most parents, I didn’t get blamed for the emu pinch that I warned them about!)

I’m donating blood for the first time. I made an attempt a few years ago, but was rejected because I weighed too little. Since then, I’ve been trying to keep my weight at a healthy level, waiting for an opportunity to try again, but not really making it a top priority.

While I’m waiting to get called in for evaluation, I notice an elderly man walking around talking to the other donors. He eventually comes up and starts talking to me. It turns out that this man has bone cancer, and is dependent on blood donations every three weeks for his health. He is making it his personal mission to thank all of us, because it is people like us that made sure he could live to see his two grandsons’ birthdays.

I get through the rest of it with a smile on my face, thinking about giving what I have to someone who needs it. It’s nice to be able to help people, but to see what exactly a simple blood donation can do really gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Rest assured, I’ll be back to do it again when the 56-day rest period between shots ends.

Last December, my great-grandma passed away after a long time in a nursing home in poor health. We knew that she would pass soon, but my family was still obviously very sad. My seven-year-old brother took it pretty hard, so my other two brothers and I tried to comfort him as best we could.

The time came for the funeral, which we had to explain a bit to my brother. It was a Catholic one, so it was held in a church and lasted a couple hours. I helped give the Eucharist, and my brothers and I helped carry the Gifts to the altar, all the while trying to convince my youngest brother that Great-Grandma wasn’t going to come back to life like you do in Minecraft. As you can imagine, we were pretty emotionally spent, and my mother and grandma were crying numerous times.

At the end of the funeral, four of the adult male family members came to help carry the coffin to the hearse. Mom was crying and holding Grandma, my aunt and uncle were holding back tears, and my cousins, siblings, and I watched quietly. Suddenly, my youngest brother walks towards the coffin and “helps” carry the coffin to the hearse, which wasn’t supposed to happen. My mother was shocked, but didn’t stop him in time before they were out the door.

Imagine being there, a ring of family members in solemn silence, suddenly laughing as their loved one is carried away! It was just so comical seeing my brother holding the coffin, right next to his very confused dad and uncle, that we couldn’t help it. That bit of comedy was just what we needed at such a sad moment in our life, and I firmly believe that God urged him to go so our great-grandma could go out with her family smiling for her and her descendants.

(I’m eating in a fast food place. Next to me is a family, consisting of a mom and two teenage children — a boy and girl — who have just finished eating. As they’re getting up, I hear the following exchange.)

Son: “Why are we supposed to clean that up? It’s their job.”

Mother: *immediately turns around* “Are you kidding me? You don’t leave your plate on the table at home, do you?!”

(The son dutifully grabbed his trash and threw it away.)

My 15-year-old daughter was having particularly painful period cramps one day, and spent the day lying in bed. Her 12-year-old little brother asked what was wrong, and she told him; we’re very open about these sorts of things in our family. He then asked me if he could go for a bike ride, and I said yes.

He took his bike down to the nearest grocery store, went in and bought several of his sister’s favorite chocolate bars with his own money, and brought them home for her, telling her he hoped she felt better soon.

He’s going to make some lucky girl a wonderful boyfriend and husband someday.