I was 12 when my dad lost his job. At school, most days I’d just drink water.
One day, one classmate, Joy, quietly slipped a pie into my backpack. The next day, it was an apple. Then a sandwich. It became a quiet routine. Months later, Joy’s mom invited me over for dinner.
I froze as I found out that her mom was clueless about her daughter’s generous gestures until a day ago. Joy had been giving me her own food every day without telling anyone.
Her mom said she was proud of her, but even prouder that we had become friends. I’m in college now, and Joy and I are still close.
She insists she didn’t do anything special, but to me, those small acts of kindness were the reason I never gave up on myself.