(When I am 12, I go on an overseas trip with my mum and buy a beautiful umbrella there, shaped like a leaf. Since it doesn’t fit into our luggage, we have to check it separate as ‘bulky luggage’ at the airport. But when we get to our home airport at around midnight, the umbrella doesn’t show up at the baggage claim, no matter how long we wait. We ask a random airport worker for help and get sent to the special claims desk.)

Lady At Desk: “You’re missing a piece of luggage? I’m sorry, but it might have been lost in our collections area for luggage… or it might not have made it off the plane. This late at night, there’s not enough workers to properly search for it.”

(I was in love with that umbrella, so hearing that it might be completely lost almost made me cry.)

Lady At Desk: “If you give me a description of the lost piece, I’ll make sure to inform everyone working tomorrow to look for it, and with your flight number we’ll check the plane as well! We can have it delivered to any address you give us.”

Mum: “It’s a bright green umbrella, with the brown handle shaped like a tree trunk, and if you open it up it has the shape of a leaf.”

Lady At Desk: “Well, we certainly won’t have any trouble finding THAT!” *laughing*

(We go home without my umbrella and I am certain I’ll never hear from the airport service again. However, the next day around noon, the doorbell rings and a flight attendant shows up — with my umbrella!)

Flight Attendant: “The luggage workers found this tucked behind a set of golf-bags this morning. When I heard your address was on my route home, I offered to deliver it in person!”

(Ten years later, I still have that umbrella.)

My sister and I were deeply in love with Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 from the first time we saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show, Thanksgiving, 1969. She was six and I was nine.

Fast forward to Christmas, 1971. Our parents give us a portable record player. Our parents had a couple of Jackson 5 records and we played them over and over, ad nauseam.

In August, 1972, Michael Jackson released the album Ben. Oh, we wanted that album so badly; oh, so badly. So we started saving; all of our Sunday school money, all of our candy money, any money we found anywhere went into the Ben Bank. After about two months we had enough for the album. We hounded our mother unmercifully to please take us to the department store so that we could buy the album.

Finally, late on a Sunday, she takes us there, does her shopping, and then she leads us around to where the albums are sold. Now mind you this is a Sunday in the 1970s. All stores close at 5:00 pm and it’s 4:45. My sister is the keeper of the bank, so she is walking in front.

We walk to the counter and politely ask the young lady working there if there is a copy of Michael Jackson’s Ben. She goes and gets it. Oh, my, we are so happy, practically vibrating with excitement. The young lady is smiling, too; she can see we are so happy.

She says that will be $5.45. My sister puts the paper bag that holds all the money we saved for this album on the counter and upends it. Five dollars and fifty cents worth of dimes, nickels, and pennies roll out and we start counting. My mom walks away at that point. After about 10 minutes of us going 1,2,3,4,5, because by that time we have given her all the silver and we are into the 300 pennies that are included, the young lady just starts sweeping it off the counter and throwing them into the register.

My sister and I say, “But we didn’t count it for you.” The young lady says, “That’s okay; I can see that it’s enough.”

That happened 45 years ago and yet I can still see that young lady’s face fall as all those coins rolled across the counter. To the young lady I wish to say, “I’m so so sorry we did that to you. Thank you for being a kind soul to two little girls ten minutes before closing.”

(Up until this point, my day hasn’t been going well. It started with a car issue where several pieces of my engine just kind of fell off, leaving me to walk everywhere in 95 degree heat. Then the tow truck driver was angry and aggressive, and the kids at my job were especially crazy. I stop on my way home at a popular sandwich shop to pick up some cheap, day-old bread for dinner.)

Me: “Hi, I hate to do this during the rush, but can I just have a loaf of day old bread?”

Cashier: “Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?”

Me: “Yes?”

Cashier: “Then you just rolled a natural 20. We don’t have any day-olds, so here’s a fresh loaf, and it’s on us.”

Me: *completely flustered with gratitude* “Thank you so much! This day has been pretty rough; I had major car trouble, and work was insane. I really needed something like this.”

Cashier: “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you’re safe, and I’ll always be here if you need your day turned around again!”

(I think I’ll be going there a lot more often!)

I am a college sophomore. I am back home for winter break so I decide to visit my old high school to catch up with some of my former teachers. There was one teacher in particular who had made an extremely significant mark on my life when I was younger and I am excited to see her. She’s one of those really energetic teachers who jumps on desks and stuff. She’s teaching a class when I show up so I wait for the bell to ring.

As soon as she sees me in the doorway, she actually SCREAMS my last name and sprints across the room to give me a hug. Her next English class starts to filter in, and to my surprise, she skips the lesson and asks me to talk to them about college instead. We have a long and fun lesson where I assure them of the merits of learning MLA and proper writing skills, which pleases the teacher immensely.

After the class we have a long private discussion about life and politics and such, and she gives me some much-needed advice. I was a bit of a rebel in high school and didn’t get very good grades, but now I’m about to graduate college having been on the dean’s list almost every semester and already working in my intended field. It all goes to show what an impact some teachers can have on your life long after you leave their class.

My brother and I are at the grocery store after class, both wearing backpacks and obviously students.

We are looking at bread, and discussing the sale it has, and whether or not we should spend more money to get more bread. Suddenly, a guy in his mid-forties walks up to us and says, “Can I tell you a story?” Being polite, we listen. He tells us a story of how he met a girl in college, and that me and my brother reminded him of a young him and this girl. He hands us $100, and then says, “I’d like to pay for your groceries today, and someday when you’re in your forties, pay it forward and pay for someone else’s groceries.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was with my brother and not my boyfriend! Regardless, guy at a local grocery store in Eugene, my family and I really appreciate your random act of kindness. Of course you know nothing about our life, but know that at that time, getting free groceries was a massive help. Thank you.