Late last night, Myles could hardly stop talking about how he had to be twins with a boy in his class for Twin Day. He was completely convinced they looked exactly the same — same eyes, same hair, everything. He was adamant they were identical. After the kids went to bed, I found myself heading to Walmart at 9 p.m. to pick up matching outfits so he could make his Twin Day dream come true. The next day, his teacher sent me a picture of the two of them together, and my heart just melted. Sure, they were obviously two very different children, but Myles didn’t see that. In his eyes, they really were twins. Moments like that make me think — wouldn’t the world be so much better if we could all see it through the eyes of a couple of five-year-olds?

Then there was the day a simple errand turned into a hilarious plot twist. I had texted my husband to remind him to pick up bread, but instead of just saying it, I decided to grab his attention with something a little shocking. I sent a message hinting that he was with another woman named Valerie. I figured he’d instantly reply in confusion. Instead, he texted back that he was with Valerie — and they were near my favorite bakery. My heart dropped. I grabbed my keys, rushed out the door, and sped to the bakery, imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios. I scanned the place, ready for confrontation, but he was nowhere to be found. Panicked, I texted him again, asking where he was. His response? “I’m at work. Since you’re already at the bakery, why not grab the bread?” That’s when it hit me — I’d been expertly pranked. My frustration quickly dissolved into laughter. On my way out, I even bought him his favorite pastries. When I got home, he greeted me with a big grin and open arms, and though I tried to stay mad, I couldn’t. Instead, we both burst out laughing. It’s now one of those unforgettable stories we’ll tell for years — a reminder that humor can turn even tense moments into cherished memories.

But not all stories are lighthearted. Last Wednesday would have been my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. My grandfather, Walter, passed away two years ago, but my grandmother, Doris, still wanted to honor the day. She dressed in the navy blouse and pearl brooch he had given her, then went to the same restaurant where they had celebrated every year. She ordered their usual meal and, after setting aside just enough money for bus fare, left a 20% tip — the best she could afford. As she was leaving, her waitress, Jessica, loudly mocked her for “tipping too little” and cruelly commented on why she was “alone at her age.” People turned to stare. My grandmother, humiliated, gathered her belongings and quietly walked eight blocks home, tears in her eyes.

When she told me the story the next day, I was angry and heartbroken. I didn’t want to rant online or yell; I wanted Jessica to truly understand the weight of her words. This wasn’t about petty revenge — it was about making sure she could never claim she didn’t know the pain she had caused. I made a reservation at the same restaurant and specifically requested Jessica as our server. My friend Jules, a photographer, came with me. We dressed elegantly and ordered the most expensive dishes, letting Jessica think a generous tip was coming her way. When dessert arrived, I handed her an envelope. Inside were several napkins, each carrying a message my grandmother couldn’t say that night: “You should be ashamed.” “She’s a widow, not a wallet.” “Karma’s coming.”

I watched as she read them, her smile fading with each one. Then I calmly told her exactly what had happened: the anniversary, the outfit, the tip, the long walk home in tears. I kept my voice steady — I wanted her to feel the truth, not my anger. She didn’t walk away smiling this time. Whether she changes or not, she can never again pretend she doesn’t know the harm her cruelty can inflict.

These three moments — a child’s innocent view of friendship, a playful marital prank, and a stand against cruelty — all hold the same quiet truth: perspective matters. Whether it’s the pure acceptance of a five-year-old, the humor that keeps a marriage strong, or the courage to stand up for someone you love, the way we choose to see and respond to the world shapes the connections we build. Sometimes the smallest acts — a matching outfit, a clever text, a handwritten message — can create memories that last a lifetime, teach valuable lessons, or change someone’s heart. And maybe, if we tried a little harder to see the world through kinder, more patient eyes, we could make it a better place for all of us.