I am having a discussion with my four-year-old kid. Please note that we are not Christians.

Four-Year-Old: “Mom? What is paradise?”

Me: “Paradise? Oh. That’s the world’s best place, the best place you can imagine.”

My kid sits quietly and thinks for a few moments.

Four-Year-Old: “Mom. You are paradise!”

I had an assistant manager who wasn’t very clean. To put it bluntly, he smelled. He was otherwise a fantastic manager, and I had no idea how to approach the issue without humiliating him or risking losing him.

One week, a corporate team of about ten people visited to inspect our location. During the visit, one of them pulled me aside.

Corporate Representative: “That guy over there smells.”

Me: “I know. I honestly don’t know how to deal with it. He’s a fantastic manager, and I would hate to lose him.”

The representative approached my assistant manager and asked to speak with him privately. They left together and didn’t return for about an hour.

When the representative came back, he pulled me aside again.

Corporate Representative: “He lives at home in a hoarder house, and the people there deny him access to the shower.”

The representative had experienced a similar situation himself. He gave my assistant manager some advice about handling his home life and then gave him a raise on the spot so he could begin saving enough money to move out, and helped him sign up for a local cheap gym using a corporate membership to provide access to free daily showers.

About nine months later, he finally escaped that house. The biggest immediate change wasn’t his hygiene. It was his confidence. Being seen without being judged, and then being supported instead of punished, transformed him into a different person.

We continued working together for another two years. After moving out, he even got a girlfriend. I was incredibly happy for him.

There is always more to someone’s story than we can see. We rarely know what another person is enduring, so it is better to approach them first with compassion and kindness rather than judgment.

CONTENT WARNING: Death of a pet

My grandmother is a hundred years old with dementia (thankfully the sweet and “adorable” kind). My mom visits her nearly every day, and she would always ask her about me and our dog as a pair. She loves dogs, and latched onto the fact that I do too, so most of our conversations are about the joys of having dogs. Sadly, though, our dog suddenly died a few months ago, and her questions changed to when we’d get our next dog and how everyone should have a dog.

She announced to everyone she wanted to come with us to pick out a new dog, and would remind us to bring her during visits. Given she’s frail and has limited mobility and energy, going to the local humane societies would be too big of a trip for her to handle. Even scenic drives are big excursions for her these days. Still, we were trying to figure out a good compromise to fulfill the desire to see dogs (likely her main motive for wanting to go).

Due to some health issues, my mom wasn’t able to visit her for most of this month. This is the longest stretch she’s been without seeing her outside of going on vacations, and she finally felt well enough to visit her again yesterday.

Me: “So how was your first visit to Mimi?”

Mom: “Good! She was great today. And we apparently have a dog now!”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “She thinks she went with us to the humane society and picked out a dog. She was talking all about how she had a great time.”

Me: “…Well, guess that’s one problem solved. So, what kind of dog did we get?”

Mom: *Laughing.* “I don’t know! She didn’t say, and I couldn’t think of a way to ask without making her realize we don’t have one and start asking to go again!”

Well, here’s hoping that whatever dog we eventually get matches her “memories”.

Two friends and I (all guys), hanging out one Saturday afternoon, realize that [Other Friend] has a glaring gap in his knowledge, and despite our best attempts to educate him on this gap, he is convinced we’re all tricking him as some kind of prank (which is fair, as we do that to each other a lot). 

So, we decide to drive somewhere to prove that we are right and he is wrong. As we’re driving, we realize we’re passing close to the home of another friend in the group, so I call him from the car (I’m in the passenger seat).

Me: “Hey, [Friend], I’m here with [Other Friend] and [Driver Friend], going to the aquarium. Wanna come?”

Friend: “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wholesome as f***, but why did a bunch of grown-a** men decide to all go to the aquarium of all places?”

Me: “[Other Friend] doesn’t think seahorses are real.”

Friend: “…What?”

Me: “[Other Friend] doesn’t think seahorses are real. He thinks we’re all pranking him.”

[Other Friend] starts talking loudly from the back seat, so that [Friend] can hear:

Other Friend: “Sure, sea horses, magical sea creatures that look like horses with mermaid tails and just float upright and look majestic as f***. You’re telling me those are real?”

All Of Us: “Yes!”

Other Friend: “Whatever, at least I’m getting a free day out of it.”

Me: “We never said they were magical.”

Other Friend: “You said the males get pregnant.”

Driver Friend: “Technically the fertilized egg gets transplanted into a space on the male where—”

Other Friend: “—Yup. Pregnant. Pregnant male. Magic. Y’all might as well say they’re dragons.”

Me: “Aaaanywho, [Friend], we’re passing your off-ramp in about five minutes; we picking you up?”

Friend: “Just to see [Other Friend]’s face when he sees the seahorses for real? You bet your a** I’m in!”

So, we take a small detour, pick up [Friend], and proceed to the aquarium. When we tell the young woman why we’re there, she thinks it’s hilarious and adorable, and allows us to get in on a family ticket (instead of paying for four full-priced adults), and she tells [Other Friend] to prepare to have his mind blown.

That was the first indicator to him that maybe, just maaaaaybe, we weren’t pranking him after all. 

When he finally saw the seahorses for real, the noises coming out of him were enough to get the aquarium employee working that room to ask him to calm down. Then when that guy found out why [Other Friend] was making such noises, he also thought this was adorable and spent the next twenty minutes answering all of [Other Friend]’s questions about seahorses, male pregnancy, and everything.

In fact, the seahorse lesson was so engrossing that by the time we were done, about five kids and their respective parents had joined us to make an impromptu crowd of eager learners about ‘hippocampus hippocampus‘ (the seahorse scientific name I learned that day!).

As a kid in the late 80s and early 90s, I went shopping with my mom at a craft supply store near our house. She could spend HOURS in that shop, looking at sewing patterns or craft magazines, carefully picking out supplies for her next craft project.

To keep myself occupied, I wandered the store. I tried looking at some of the magazines, but I wasn’t interested. Sometimes I’d run my hands through the big bin of loose buttons as if it was a sandbox. Mostly, I talked to the employees, like Janet and Rose at the fabric cutting counter. Once, when Mom was taking an unusually long time to shop, I found an empty shelf at floor level and took a nap on it.

The manager, Kim, took pity on me. She asked if I would like to “work” for the craft store. A few minutes later, she had set me up at a small table with a box of spools of ribbon and a pricing gun. She showed me how to pull the trigger and stick the price tag on the product. It was fun! I priced that entire box of ribbon spools.

For months, every time we visited, I found Kim as quickly as I could and asked if she had any jobs for me. She always found something that needed price tags (I suspect she set aside some items specifically for me). She would set the price on the gun, and I would happily apply the stickers.

After three or four such sessions, Kim decided that I needed to be paid for my work, and she would buy me something out of the break room vending machine, like a candy bar or a bag of chips. I clearly remember one day when she and Janet both told me that I had been particularly productive, and she gave me a five-dollar bill. That was a big amount of money to an eight-year-old in 1990!

Unfortunately, Kim had to end my “employment.” I later learned that someone at the district or corporate level found out and cited liability or child labor concerns. No one was punished, as far as I know, but I wasn’t allowed to work the pricing gun anymore.

Soon after, Mom and I moved across the state. But I still think fondly of that store, its employees, and my unofficial first retail job.