People hurried past us, pulling jackets over their heads.
As we approached an intersection, I noticed an elderly man standing beside an old sedan.
Its hood was raised.
The man looked frustrated and thoroughly soaked.
Drivers continued around him.
Pedestrians rushed by without stopping.
Sophie noticed him at the same moment I did.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us said anything.
Then she smiled and crossed the street toward him.
Lucy groaned.
“Oh, come on. We’re going to be here forever.”
But she followed.
So did I.
As we approached, I thought about my father.
Perhaps some things weren’t inherited through surnames, ownership shares, or family fortunes.
Perhaps they passed quietly from one generation to another through the examples people set.
One stranger stopped to help someone.
Years later, another person stopped.
And eventually, compassion became an inheritance of its own.
I’d once believed that being dismissed from my job was the worst thing that had ever happened to me.
