My friend Felicia has a son who is learning to speak. One day, I am at Felicia’s house for a grill out. Her son is going around offering up his sippy cup to “bump cup” with everyone else. Another friend is sitting beside me when the toddler comes up to him.

Toddler: “Hey. Hey. Bump cup?”

Friend: “What?”

Me: “He wants you to bump cups with him.”

I point to his beer bottle.

Friend: “Ohhh. Cheers, little man!”

They bump cups.

Toddler: “Cheers!” *Laughs*

Friend: *Laughs* “Yeah, cheers!”

Toddler: “Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!” *Pumping his cup in the air*

Felicia: *Rolling her eyes* “Now he’ll go to preschool and try to cheers with everyone.”

Toddler: “Cheers!”

Friend: “I didn’t think he’d repeat me.”

Felicia: “He’s a parrot.”

Friend: “Oh, yeah? Hey, [Toddler], come here.”

[Toddler] goes to [Friend], who whispers something in his ear. [Toddler] then goes to Felicia and bumps her with his cup.

Felicia: “Hey! What are you doing?”

Toddler: “Bye, Felicia!”

He runs away giggling.

Felicia: *Dramatic sigh* “Now he’s not going to stop saying that for weeks!”

[Friend] sits back and sips his beer.

Friend: “I know.”

About a decade ago, I decided to donate my kidney as a non-directed donor, meaning I didn’t know the person who would get the kidney; the hospital picked him. Knowing that I volunteered with children and had a real soft spot for them, the hospital recommended a twenty-two-month-old child as the person to receive the kidney.

The surgery went fine and I got to meet the child for the first time a month after the surgery. I thought this would be the only time I would meet the child.

A number of years later, I get a surprise call from the pediatric department of the hospital where I donated. They are doing a reunion party where they get together kidney donors and kidney recipients, and they want to know if I would like to attend. Excited at the chance to meet the child again, I agree to attend.

When they finally arrive at the party, while their mother is busy signing in, the boy and his twin brother wander into the party and apparently recognize me. The one that I actually donated the kidney to is a bit shy at first about meeting me, not so much his brother.

Twin Brother: “Are you the one that gave my brother the kidney?”

Me: “Yes, I was.”

Without saying anything else, he runs up to me and gives me a gigantic hug.

Twin Brother: “Thank you!”

His brother seems a bit unsure how he is supposed to interact with his kidney donor at first, but I have enough experience with kids that I am able to get him to open up soon enough. Eventually, the brothers are excitedly dragging me around to face painting and all the other activities they have for the party.

Boy: “Where did you get the extra kidney from?”

Me: “Everyone is born with two kidneys, but we only really need one, so they took my left kidney out of me and put it in you, and I keep using my right kidney.”

Boy: “How did they get it out?”

Me: “They cut a hole in my belly button and then stuck a machine in through it which they used to cut my kidney out and pull it out through my belly button. Then they did the same thing to you to put the kidney into you.”

Brother: “Did it hurt?”

Me: “They put me asleep when they cut the kidney out, so I didn’t feel anything then. It did hurt a few days after, but it got much better after the third day. It was worth it to help.”

Kid: “Oh.” 

The kid stands there, clearly thinking about that for a few more seconds.

Kid: “Thank you.”

By the end of the party, both twins were asking if I could come visit them again. Since I love kids anyway, I told them I’d be willing to, but I didn’t want to impose, so I told them I could only if their mother wanted to invite me. I heard the kids tell their mother that they wanted me to visit, but I never did get an invite to visit them from her. It’s been many years since then, but I hope, wherever they are, both kids are still as happy and healthy as they were the last time we met.

This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for January 2021!

Read the next Feel Good roundup for January 2021 story!

Read the Feel Good roundup for January 2021!

This is before the quarantine. I am at a bookstore, looking for a birthday present for my teenage son. A bookseller walks up to me, and at that moment, so does a boy of about five.

Bookseller: “Hi, can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I need a book recommendation for my son. He likes horror and gothic literature.”

The bookseller glances down at the boy. 

Bookseller: “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer picture books?” 

Me: “No, I’m sure. He’d probably kill me if I tried to give him a picture book in front of his friends.”

Bookseller: “Sir, I really think you should consider something younger for your son.”

She gestures to the child.

Me: “That boy is not my son. My son is seventeen, almost eighteen.”

Bookseller: *Turns bright red and chuckles nervously* “Well, that changes things. What authors does he like?”

The little boy’s mother came along at that point and started scolding him for walking away, and the bookseller helped me find a good horror novel.

While stocking the shelves in the toy aisle, I overhear a little girl talking to her dad: 

Girl: “Dad, are boomerangs like frisbees but for people who have no friends?”

My partner and I stop at a motor museum on our way back from our holidays. The museum is a smaller, countryside one, where the vehicles aren’t fully barred off but staged in scenes with props.

Shortly after we arrive, a family starts following us through the museum. The kids seem disinterested, but no big deal; it’s not exactly thrilling for a group of five kids that seem about three to thirteen years old.

Then, we notice that the two older girls are touching the cars — the multi-million-pound, carefully preserved vintage cars.

Still, no big deal. Kids touch stuff; they like to push boundaries. We figure the parents will say something. But they don’t. Instead, the mum joins in, prodding and poking this and that. The dad is ignoring them all and racing ahead like he’s trying to escape.

Then, the kids start opening doors, climbing inside the cars, reaching in, and pulling out the historic props. My partner and I are exchanging incredulous looks, but being British, we’re both too awkward to say anything to them — the same as everyone else. Plus, I haven’t noticed any super obvious “Do Not Touch” signs yet, so I think, “Maybe they don’t know they aren’t meant to touch them.”

Then, one of the girls grabs an antique windscreen wiper and starts pulling it up and down. The toddler is now pounding his fist on the cars. The parents don’t bat an eye. In fact, the mum starts fiddling with a bike.

We just look at each other in disbelief. One of the kids has literally been leaning on a “Please do not touch the vehicles!” sign on top of an antique bike seat.

My partner and I look at each other, and then we hear a clink. We turn around and the father is desperately trying to re-attach a headlight to the kind of car you see billionaires driving in black and white movies. The mum is chastising the toddler, who looks utterly perplexed, and snapping at the older girls for touching things.

The dad gets the headlight to stay and they hastily rush off. We start looking for a member of the museum staff. Before they leave, we see all the kids climb inside an antique toy car and try to “make it go.”

We don’t catch a member of staff until after they have left, and I feel a little bad for not speaking up as I feel other visitors would’ve backed us up. But seriously, if you can’t behave inside a museum, how do you expect your kids to know what to do?