I took my son to the park. He was about eight years old. On the swing nearby sat a little girl, about the same age, with tears in her eyes.
My son, with a maturity far beyond his years, went up to her and asked, “Why are you sad? Can I help you in any way?”
The little girl, with a trembling voice, whispered: “My dad passed away two days ago… he used to push me on this swing every evening. I miss him.”
Those words shattered me. I had tears in my eyes. Before I could say anything, my son gently asked her to get up from the swing. For a second, I didn’t understand. But when she stood up, he didn’t sit. Instead, he wrapped his small arms around her and hugged her tight.
That hug was the beginning of something I couldn’t have imagined.
Today, twenty years later, I am standing at their wedding. That same little girl—the one with tears in her eyes on the swing—just called me “Dad.” And I cannot explain the happiness in my heart.
Credit to the rightful owner~