While driving home, I get stuck waiting at the railway crossing near the station of my little hometown. The station is to my left, the train has just stopped there. From my right, over a grassland, two preteen boys are biking toward the crossing. I mostly notice them because I am a bit worried about them knowing to look out for the train. They do; they lie down on the grass just under the bank, probably to watch the train from below. They’re nearer than I’m really comfortable with but safe enough.

Once the train is gone, one of them runs up the bank and puts something on a rail. Then, he looks around and adds two rather large stones — about the width of the rail itself, as far as I can see from where I am sitting in the third car from crossing. Then, he grabs his bike and goes to join his friend standing near the crossing; they obviously want to cross both the railway and street.

Seeing these actions, I roll down my right window. With half a dozen cars in each direction, they won’t be able to cross the street before my car reaches them, so I will be able to tell them off.

Only… the first car stops at the crossing. I don’t hear what is said, but one of the boys runs back to the rail and swipes the stones off. The cars in front of me drive away.

Wait, but he left the first thing. It’s not a stone but something colourful; maybe it’s soft, but still, I’m not going to take any chances.

I stop by the boys and shout for them to get the last item, as well, while the first car from the opposite direction has also stopped and is honking. The boys go and get the third item, as well, and we all drive on.

Somebody got a triple dose of being raised by the village today. And I got my belief that I am living among decent people confirmed.

The old Woodward’s store in downtown Vancouver used to have a photo booth near the food court. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, my friends and I loved to go down to the photo booth. We would save up our change, bring props, and get all sorts of fun selfies.

One day, I was there with a friend having fun as usual when I noticed that a very small girl, maybe three or four, had appeared next to the photobooth. She was looking longingly at the curtains and at us.

I could see that her mom was nearby, so I said something like, “Sweet girl!” to her.

Mom: “She’s really curious about what’s going on in there.”

Me: “Would it be okay for me to bring her in there and take some pictures?”

The mom was 100% on board with this idea, and the little girl was somewhat in awe of being allowed to go into the booth. I still have two of those four pictures. I gave the other two to the girl and her mother.

I’m meeting a friend at a small coffee shop about halfway between our respective houses. I’ve never been to this coffee shop, so I message my friend as I enter to see if she’s already there. A brief check and I don’t see her, so I figure I’ll order and grab a table.

As I’m heading to the counter, someone reaches out and grabs my arm. I realize it’s my friend; she has her back to the door so I didn’t immediately recognize her. Sitting across from her is a guy I don’t know.

Friend: “Hey, [My Name]! Glad to see you.”

Me: “You, too! Did you get your coffee?”

Friend: “Yeah, I’ve just been chatting with…”

Guy: “[Guy].”

I sort of acknowledge him and realize my friend isn’t quite panicking, but she’s sort of starting to dig her nails into my arm.

Me: “Ah. Well, sorry I’m late. I’ll just go get some coffee.”

Guy: “Oh, do you mind if I hang out with you guys?”

Friend: “You know, that’d be great. But she and I haven’t seen each other in a long time, and we want to catch up.”

It has only been a couple of months if that since we’ve seen each other in person, and we text all the time. Plus, her brother and my brother are best friends. But I get the idea.

Me: “Yeah, sorry, just been a while. Lots to catch up on.”

Guy: “Cool, cool. All right, thanks for the drink.”

He finally gets up and leaves. I slip into his empty seat.

Me: “So…”

Friend: “Sorry about that, I—”

She’s interrupted by one of the baristas coming over; I think he might be a manager.

Barista: “Did he bother you at all? I tried to keep an eye on him, but we got really busy.”

Friend: “Oh, no, it was fine. I was waiting for my friend anyway.”

Barista: “He comes in occasionally and tries to get people to buy him coffee. We haven’t had issues yet, but he’s made a few people uncomfortable. If he comes back, let me know. In the meantime, can I get you some coffee?”

Friend: “I still have mine, but she might want something?”

I went up and ordered, and the barista didn’t let me pay because my friend had bought the guy a coffee. She told me that he’d come into the coffee shop right behind her — not following her but the next person in the door. They’d started chatting while in line, and when she mentioned meeting someone, he’d wormed his way into getting her to buy his coffee and then sitting down with him. He wasn’t outside when we left as far as we were able to tell. 

It’s been almost ten years, and I wonder about him occasionally. From my friend’s discussion, he didn’t have any obvious issues, but we didn’t want to assume. We didn’t meet at that coffee shop again, although that was more due to relocations and it no longer being in the middle than outright trying to avoid this guy.

My friend, fiancé, and I traveled to Iceland back in 2016. As we were hiking up to the tucked-away warmed pool of Seljavallalaug, we got to talking with a couple from California.

Woman: “Where are you from?”

Me: “We’re all Canadians.”

Woman: “How long did you have to drive?”

Me: “Our hostel isn’t too far away — about an hour or so drive.”

Woman: *Giggling* “Oh, no, let me rephrase my question: how long did you have to drive to Iceland?”

All of us, even the woman’s partner, stopped and stood in awkward silence. I asked if she was serious (just to make sure) and, unfortunately, she was. I had to fight back the temptation to be sarcastic.

Me: “Well, you see, Iceland is an island, and Canada is a part of North America — not to mention that Greenland is between the two, and it’s also an island. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Woman: “Oh, so you flew over on a plane. I thought with all the ice, you could drive over it.”

When I was probably six years old, I was playing “kick the crackerbox” in the kitchen with my older sister. I had my socks on, and I slipped and fell chin-first into a stool. I was taken to the emergency room and had seven stitches put in.

As this was the late 1980s, there were still cigarette vending machines in the hospitals. A guy had bought himself a pack of smokes, and with his change, he had gotten a pack of Reese’s Pieces. He gave them to me and told me he hoped I would feel better soon. Thirty-five years later, I still remember that moment.

I also remember my grandmother pouring the candy into a bowl for me the next day and how painful it was to eat them with my wound — but they were all the more pleasant because of it.

I seriously doubt that man remembers that day, but I will never forget that random act of kindness that a stranger gave to a little kid in a lot of pain.