My brother had just finished soccer practice in his senior year and decided to drive his friend home. On the way to her house, a distracted driver ended up rear-ending the two of them into an intersection, where the passenger side was hit by a van going 50 miles per hour. My brother broke four ribs in the crash and managed to roll out of the car. He stood up and tried to make his way back to help his friend, puncturing a lung in the process. Eventually, a bystander managed to restrain my brother so he wouldn’t be injured further. The girl was taken into intensive care, and we didn’t know what was happening with her for a long time.

I was in the same high school as my brother, and I was allowed to take a week off to stay with him in recovery. He was incredibly worried about his friend, and he was starting to get depressed. That’s around the time people started coming to see him. Throughout his stay he had nearly the entire school visit him, both students and staff. The nurses actually had to start getting involved to make sure not too many people were in the waiting room at a time. Each and every person brought him an origami swan.

We learned that the day after the accident the entire school shut down all its activities. Instead, everyone was taught how to make origami swans, which signify health and quick healing. Everyone spent the entire day folding them for my brother and his friend. My brother received over 3,000 swans. When he was finally released and he went back to school for the first time, we found the entire school covered in swans. They were hanging from the ceiling in nearly every room. One of his friends even managed to make a seven-foot tall swan that the school kept in the cafeteria.

My brother and his friend miraculously recovered. Even the doctors were baffled that there was no permanent damage to either of them. My school had those swans hanging in the hallways until the day it shut down. It might be silly to think little pieces of paper could make a difference in a life-or-death situation, but I can’t help but be thankful for each and every one of them.

(I’m cleaning up some tables for the children’s clothing. Everything is going fine until a young boy shows up and starts throwing things on the ground.)

Me: “Excuse me. Can you stop doing that?”

Boy: *snottily* “Doing what? Throwing things?” *throws clothing at me*

(After I spend a few minutes asking the boy to stop, he runs off. I call in to my manager to let him know that he may have to keep an eye on the boy. Fifteen minutes later, the boy and his mother show up.)

Mother: *to boy* “Is this her?”

Boy: *nods and smirks*

Mother: *to me* “I am so sorry for my son’s behavior! I honestly lost track of him, and I’m so thankful you called in to the manager!”

Boy: *shocked* “What?! This lady was saying mean words to me!”

Mother: *angrily* “NO, she wasn’t! I come here a lot, and this lady has treated me with nothing but respect! There is no way she treated you like you say she is!”

Boy: *lets out a string of cuss words*

Mother: *to me* “Thank you so much, again! I’m sorry for him.”

(They proceed to walk out of the store, the mother scolding the child. My manager walks up to see me with tears in my eyes.)

Manager: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah… It’s just so nice to actually have a parent taking responsibility for once!”

My friends and I are walking through the dealer’s room at a convention when one friend spies a booth selling blind boxes of character figures from his favorite video game. Blind boxes have a set of figures they could contain, but the buyer doesn’t know exactly which one they get when they purchase it. My friend is super excited, since the game is somewhat older and the blind box figures are no longer being made, making them semi-rare. He only has enough money to buy two boxes, and he opens them as soon as he gets them. By chance, both blind boxes contain the same character figurine.

Before we can walk away, the owner of the booth stops us. He holds out an unopened blind box and offers to exchange one of my friend’s figures for it, giving him the chance to get something different. My friend takes him up on the offer, and the rest of us are so impressed by the owner’s actions that each of us finds something to buy from his booth.  

It’s a convention tradition now to seek out that booth and buy something from it. Everybody won that day: my friend got a figurines of his two favorite characters, we found a great place to get our convention snacks, and the family that owns the booth gained a group of loyal customers!

(My school’s PE classes are a joke. To get us moving, my mom signs us up for the county track and field team. Anyone under 18 can participate, with events divided up by age. One day, my older sister and I are off training for our field events, but most of the team is training for long-distance running. My mom is watching the runners from the stands, keeping an eye on the youngest of our siblings. The teens finish first, of course. Then the pre-teens. Then the rugrats — eight and under — start trailing in. One of the teenage boys looks over and notices my little brother still has nearly a full lap to go, and is crying his tiny eyes out. He is three-quarters of a lap behind the next kid, and absolutely devastated to be so far behind.)

Teen #1: “[Brother] is in trouble!”

(All the teenage boys get up from their cool-down stretches, and dash over to my brother, pacing him for the rest of his lap.)

Teen #2: “Come on, [Brother]! You can do this.”

Teen #3: “1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4! You-can-do-this!”

(They all took up the chant, running in perfect time with his tiny, four-year-old legs. He stopped crying, and started to speed up a little, finally crossing the finish line. The moment he stepped across it, they swept him off his feet, carried him on their shoulders, and ran a victory lap, cheering and shouting his name. My mom sobbed, unashamedly. Not only did they know this little kid’s name, but then they did all that to encourage him, and keep him from quitting. My little brother has since become a fantastic runner. When he was 12, he started running more than ten miles to church for youth group, just for fun. We’re all very glad he never gave up.)

(After being kicked out of my parents’ house and having most of my belongings destroyed, I have only three shirts, one pair of pants, and a single sweater to wear. I live in a state that gets absolutely frigid in the winters. I am freezing my tail off walking to and from work every day and catching all sorts of colds. Then, as my shift is ending one day and I am about to brave the freezing cold again, my manager calls me up to the front, where a regular waits. I’ve helped this customer frequently. She is an older woman with back problems that make trying on shoes — my department — difficult, so I often help put them on her and take them off, offer suggestions, etc. They’re smalltime things that really mean very little in the long run.)

Manager: “[My Name], good of you to join us.”

(My manager is a quirky, funny guy. He’s never 100% serious, except for just now. I am certain I am going to lose my temp position and nine-dollar-per-hour income. Instead, the customer takes out a bag with our store’s logo on it and hands it to me.)

Regular: “Go on; open it.”

(Inside are a pair of gloves and an honest-to-god winter jacket, fur-lined and everything. It is an expensive coat that I’ve been eyeing enviously ever since the temperature started dropping.)

Regular: “You help me out so much, and I can’t give you money, but I worked this out with your manager.”

(Then, she hugged me and treated me out to dinner. This is where I started crying. I hadn’t had a proper meal that wasn’t a peanut butter sandwich or ramen in months. This woman is a saint and an angel, and the world would be a better place if people were more like her.)