If you were raised on bologna, drank Coke, played in the dirt, got your butt spanked, had 3 TV channels and an outside antenna, school started with “The Pledge,” had a bedtime, rode in the back of pickup trucks, recorded songs from the radio using cassette tapes, drank from a hose, played in the creek, said sir and ma’am… and you still turned out OK.
Every morning at exactly 7:15, our neighbor walks his dog right past our house. A while back, my son started waving to them from the window on his way to get ready for school. Just this happy little wave. And the neighbor always waved back, every single time. It became their routine. This went on for months.
Then one morning my son overslept and completely missed it. No wave. Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was the neighbor, looking a bit worried.
He asked if everything was okay with my boy because he didn’t see him at the window that morning.
I honestly got a little choked up. Such a small thing, but it clearly meant something to him too. It just goes to show how those tiny daily moments can quietly build real connections.
Never underestimate them. ❤️
these kids don't want to do anything then complain when I drag them to do things together but then complain to my family that I don't do anything with them. In case you were thinking of having kids.
One evening when I was a kid, my mom came home after a really long, exhausting day at work. She still made dinner for us. She put a plate in front of my dad.... scrambled eggs, a small salad, and two pieces of toast that were very clearly burnt.
I was sitting across from him and I noticed the toast right away. I remember thinking, “Oh no… he’s going to say something.” I waited for the complaint.
But my dad just smiled, picked up the burnt toast, took a big bite, and said cheerfully:
Dad: “Mmm. This looks great, honey. How was your day at school, champ?”
I was stunned. My mom looked at the toast, then at him, and sighed.
Mom: “I’m so sorry about the toast. I burned it. I was so tired and distracted…”
My dad reached over, gently squeezed her hand, and said softly:
Dad: “Honey, I love burnt toast.”
My mom laughed a little, still looking guilty. “You don’t have to say that.”
Dad: “I mean it. Burnt toast from you tastes better than perfect toast from anyone else.”
Later that night, after I brushed my teeth, my dad came into my room to say goodnight. He sat on the edge of my bed and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Me: “Dad… do you really like burnt toast? Or were you just being nice to Mom?”
He looked at me for a second, then smiled and pulled me into a hug.
Dad: “Let me tell you something important. Your mom had a really hard day today. She still came home and made dinner for us even though she was tired. She didn’t have to do that. So why would I complain about a little burnt toast? Burnt toast never hurt anyone… but harsh words can stay with someone for a long time.”
He ruffled my hair and continued:
Dad: “We have to learn how to appreciate what people do for us, even when it’s not perfect. It’s the intention that matters. Nobody is perfect, kiddo. But love is about choosing kindness anyway.”
That conversation stuck with me more than almost anything else from my childhood. My dad wasn’t just teaching me about marriage or food... he was teaching me about grace, gratitude, and love in the everyday moments.