It was one of those typical travel-days when you are somewhere between excitement, fatigue, and waiting. We had arrived at the airport early, with time to kill before boarding. My daughter — bright, curious, full of energy — was doing what she usually does: exploring, watching people, initiating small conversations.
She greeted fellow travelers with her cheerful “hello!” and asked simple questions about their bags or where they were going. She delights in connection. As usual, she gravitated toward people — strangers really — always hoping for a friendly reaction.
One man caught her attention. He was seated alone, relaxed, head bent over a tablet. My daughter walked toward him, eyes wide, introducing herself with her customary openness.
To my surprise (and delight), the man looked up, smiled, and asked, “Would you like to sit with me?” Then, leaning back, he opened a drawing app on his tablet and offered to let her try it. She sat with him, tentatively at first. He walked her through the controls—how to choose colors, pick brushes, doodle shapes.
Soon, she was drawing confidently. They exchanged ideas: “What do you like to draw?” “Let me draw a sun.” “Now I’ll draw a cat.” Their impromptu art session lasted longer than I expected.
They moved on to cartoons. He found a few short animations or clips, and together they watched, pointing out funny parts or sharing laughs. She offered him some of her snacks—small crackers, bits of fruit. He graciously accepted, and they munched together.
Before I knew it, 45 minutes had slipped away. My daughter and this man — separated by age, background, appearance — were deeply engaged. They negotiated what to draw next, shared giggles, and even bonded over favorite colors. I stood nearby, thinking about how rare moments like these are.
As I observed them, my mind wandered. Here was a spontaneous bridge: a little girl and a stranger, with no agenda except kindness. No expectations, no prejudice, just honest human connection.
I thought of how divided our world sometimes seems: people grouped by race, by generation, by gender, by nationality, by social status. And yet here, in an airport waiting area, a little girl and a man from a different walk of life found common ground.
When it was time to board, my daughter reluctantly rose. She gave him a hug, thanked him, and skipped back to me, chatting about all she learned—about drawing, about cartoons, about what kind of person he is. I caught his eye, mouthed “thank you,” and he nodded with a warm smile.
Walking toward the gate, I felt both wistful and hopeful. Wistful that the moment ended. Hopeful that such moments can happen—and more than that, that they should happen.
In a world where we often encounter barriers — suspicion, fear, difference — I want my daughter’s life filled with moments like this: where someone says yes to her warm greeting, where strangers see her curious heart, where kindness is reciprocal, and where connection transcends any boundary.
To the man who shared his time, his tablet, his smile — thank you. Thank you for showing her, and reminding me, what it means to shine one’s light in the world.
May we all be open to unexpected connection. May we all make room, in our haste, for kindness. And may the next time your child smiles at a stranger, that stranger smiles back — and maybe stays, just a little while.