By Mark Fodor Budapest, Hungary Turkmenistan was the first country I visited while backpacking through the former Soviet Union in the summer of 1997. While on the train from Kyzyl Arvat to Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, I communicated as best I could with a Turkmen woman and an older retired Russian man, Valodia. The woman was traveling through, so she “handed me over” to the man, to take care of me next. Valodia asked where I would spend the night, but as usual I had no plans. He explained I couldn’t stay at his place as he didn’t live alone, so took me to his best friend’s place. His best friend and wife, both in their sixties, lived in a small two-room apartment. Without hesitation, they invited us both to spend the night. Despite no running water and scarce electricity, the older couple set the table with freshly prepared salads, borscht, and vodka. I mastered page-flipping of a Hungarian-Russian-Hungarian dictionary, and had a little too much to eat and drink. The other guest and I were offered the couple’s bedroom and their two beds, they were to sleep on the couch in the living room. They insisted, there was no way to refuse. The next day Valodia helped me find a map of Turkmenistan, and showed me around town. Everywhere we went, he insisted on paying our bus fare. He brought me to a friend’s home to show me how Turkmens live, and to a beautiful hilly oasis outside town. By nightfall we returned to his best friends’ place. During another bountiful dinner, the subject of old age pensions came up. I was stunned to hear they received only about 25 dollars a month. The next day, my hosts took me to a birthday party with eight or nine people. Though I was a stranger from a foreign land, they never made me feel unwanted. Quite the contrary, I was completely spoiled. Before leaving I wanted to give a token of appreciation to my hosts, something to help them during the current hard times. As I started to take out my money, the wife gave me an offended look. I realized that the right thing to do was to accept what I’d been given, and just say thank you. They smiled and wished me the best for the rest of my journeys. Every time I’ve traveled, I’ve been overwhelmed by kindness. So often we hear stories which tell us to expect mistreatment from a particular ethnic, cultural or religious group. But I have experienced in real life, over and over, that this doesn’t happen. The people I have encountered have shown me that overwhelming kindness and goodwill exist at the core of every culture and ethnic group. I’ll never forget my time in Ashgabat, where Valodia and his friends were such shining examples of the incredible generosity people everywhere give a stranger visiting their land. It was a privilege to get to know them.

by Anonymous New Jersey, USA It was a beautiful, sunny day, not a cloud in the sky and a gentle breeze blowing. The sea was calm, flat and mirror-like. The small bay was like a crescent moon, curving around with white sand sloping gently into the water. We were on our first vacation in years, in a southern Turkish fishing village on the Turquoise coast. The four of us, my wife and I and our two daughters, aged five and three, were spending the day at the beach. While my oldest daughter played in the sand with friends, my wife and I took our 3-year-old, Melinda, into the water. We walked on a sand bar which started at one of the tips of the bay and ran straight up the middle of the bay. Water on the sand bar was barely knee deep for my daughter. My wife asked me to swim out to deeper water. I agreed, and asked Melinda to head back to shore, thinking she would follow the sand bar back. Instead, she decided to head straight back to the beach where her sister was playing. No longer on the sand bar, the water up to her shoulders, Melinda doggedly kept trying to reach the shore where her sister played. My wife and I had our backs to all of this, swimming away from the beach and laughing. But, as much fun as I was having, something called me back to shore. My wife was angry about my deserting her, and continued out toward deeper water. I was now walking in water waist deep on myself, when I saw my 3-year-old Melinda, off the sand bar, head thrown back, chin up as high as she could get it, struggling to walk back to the shore. I found myself running as best I could through waist deep water toward my daughter. When I got to Melinda, I found her in the arms of a little Turkish girl, aged eight or ten, held up out of the grasp of the sea. I grabbed them both and carried them toward the shore, thanking God and the little girl in my broken Turkish. I told her how good she was to have saved my daughter’s life. Melinda said, “Daddy, I called for you and you didn’t come!” It broke my heart. Melinda is now seventeen, and gets wonderful grades in High School. She has great SAT marks and plans on attending a great college. She has it all because of a little Turkish girl. I never learned the name of the girl who saved my daughter’s life, but I’ll never forget what she did.

by Scott Bradley Missouri, USA My daughters are four years in age, sometimes that can be a struggle. I had a great time with the girls on my team when I coached my oldest daughter in basketball at the local school. Now it was time to coach my youngest daughter. I had a good group of nine girls, first and second graders. Practice was good; everything just clicked with them. They were all pretty good players, so my main goal was to make sure all the girls got to play as much as everyone else. We won games and that was OK, but at that age the most important part is playing and being part of the team. Many times after games the girls asked, “Did we win?”. Sportsmanship and having fun were more important than winning to me and my girls. So we played well and won all but one game. The parents were all great and sometimes after a game we went for ice cream or pizza to socialize. The social part was as important as practice for both parents and kids. Our last basketball game was a blowout. We were ahead by 12 points. I was extra busy, as my usual parent helper wasn’t here this game. In the last quarter I noticed a girl on the other team. She was smaller than the rest, her T-shirt went below her shorts, and she had big glasses on her pretty face. When she came down the court my girls were waiting for her to cross the half court line. We always got the ball away from her and scored another basket. I suddenly realized this, and felt awful as she lost the ball again and started to cry. In the last few minutes of the game it dawned on me that she hadn’t played as much as the other girls, and here my team was making her basketball experience worse. I called time out and asked my girls, “How would you feel if you lost the ball every time and you didn’t get to play as much as everyone else? ” I told them to let her bring the ball up the court and to let her pass it to another girl every time the rest of the game. Yes, you’re right, my first and second graders understood! They let her come up the floor with her head up and a smile on her face! I was as happy at that moment for my team as if we had won a big tournament. Kindness can come out in anything if we just take the time to stop and look. Her parents thanked me after the game for what had happened, but I couldn’t take the credit. It was my team that saved the day! I don’t know if she played basketball later, but she did not have to remember that night as a bad night. Looking back after five years, I’m still amazed at my bunch of heroes.

By Dan Champion Michigan, USA At 11:30 p.m. on a cold snowy night in December in 1990, my wife and I received a phone call from a “girl” downtown. We were running what could be called a mission or outreach center. We extended a hand to the homeless, prostitutes and drug addicts in the inner city. We had approached this girl one wintry evening when we brought hot chocolate to the girls working on the street corners. The hot drinks were our “icebreaker” which allowed us to tell them we’d like to help them get off the street and return to a normal life. The call came just as we were about to fall asleep. We had been really hoping that one of the girls we approached would actually call us. The caller was in her late teens. We were excited to have the opportunity to help her leave this life — so without thinking we drove down and picked her up. That was when the catch came. Her “boyfriend” (also her pimp) wanted to go, too. Generally speaking, we tried to get kids away from not only the area, but also their circle of “friends” (pimps, other prostitutes, etc.) Against our better judgment, we took them both to her mother’s house in a city three hours away. The drive there and back was in one of the worst snowstorms that I’ve ever driven in — it was hard to see the road. By the time we got back home, it was 5:30 a.m. and I had just enough time to take a shower and go to work. For years we never heard from her, and figured that we had just wasted our time. Without both good counseling and good follow-up help, most girls return to that lifestyle. We assumed that this had happened with her as well. Over the years we told this story, saying if we had it to do over again, we we would neither pick them both up, nor take them so far away. Just last week, 12 years later, this same girl walked into the store where my wife works. She recognized my wife immediately, hugged her and told her their story. She and her boyfriend had gotten married, have four children, and are an active part of their church. She has told many people about the snowy ride we all took so many years ago. Indeed, every time they drive in heavy snow they think of us. My wife immediately called me at work to tell me this news. I was amazed to learn that the streets hadn’t swallowed up this young girl. We were so relieved to learn that she did not succumb to life on the street, as street life has claimed more girls’ lives than I can count. For years, we thought that one night of lost sleep was just a loss. But now that we know the result — we know it was not a loss at all.

by Joanne Swiechowicz Randolph, Massachusets USA Our second son, Ross, was stationed at Great Lakes Naval Station in Chicago, and could not get leave to come home to Boston to see his fiancee for the holidays. We were pretty sad because we had not seen him for a while, so my husband bought round trip tickets for our son’s fiancee and me to make a weekend visit. Ross picked us up at the airport, and as we were leaving he said he had to do an errand before he took us to eat and then to our motel. I don’t remember how far it was, but it was dark when we arrived and in a very seedy part of town. He told us to lock the doors after he got out and not open them until he came back. After about a half hour I heard Ross talking to someone and the next thing I knew, chains were rattling and they were attaching our van to another car. A young sailor in our son’s group had driven about 75 miles from the Naval Base to spend the weekend with his wife and baby. His car had broken down and he had to get back to the base for duty the next day. We towed the car all the way back and the young sailor profusely thanked my son for coming to pick him up. He said he was sorry he had to ask him to come to such a bad part of town, but he had called other buddies and all had refused him. He finally called Ross in desperation, knowing he had to go to the airport. He could not praise our son enough saying, “You may not know it, ma’am, but Ross is always helping someone in the squad either with their naval duties or on his own time helping fix someone’s car. He will make a fine officer some day.” When our weekend visit was over, we had breakfast and headed back to the airport. On our way, we were stopped by a state trooper for speeding. The trooper looked at Ross and asked him where he was stationed and where we were going. He answered that we had flown in to Great Lakes Naval Station on Friday to see him as we were all so lonesome, but we were late getting back to the airport for our flight because of all the traffic. The trooper started to say something about driving safely, but then he said, “Never mind, just follow me.” He took us directly to our departure gate and the plane took off right after we boarded. Ross and the trooper had coffee together after we left and we later learned that the trooper had radioed ahead for them to hold the plane for two important passengers, describing us. I felt that Ross’s kindness earlier in the weekend was repaid in full. If one good turn deserves another, we couldn’t have asked for a better favor.

by Dave Arnott Texas, USA Reading was always important to my Aunt Della and Uncle Arlo. They both worked as teachers, living on Queen Anne Hill in Seattle, Washington. Della worked in a hospital as the practicum instructor for nursing students at Seattle Pacific University. She continually reminded her students of the importance of reading all medical charts accurately. Working for a liberal arts college, she also inspired her students to become “whole people,” to develop themselves through reading. A conversation with one of her nursing students would just as likely be about Shakespeare or Chaucer as about medical terminology. Reading was very important to Arlo, who taught in elementary and middle schools in Queen Anne. He was a creative, innovative teacher. He balanced discipline with love as carefully as anyone who has ever been in a classroom. Going to the library was a treat when Arlo was scheduled to volunteer to read a book aloud to children. When he read “The Three Bears” he expressively put on the great big gruff voice of the Papa Bear and the little squeaky voice of the Baby Bear. Arlo and Della raised their two children in the comfort of an old house that Arlo restored. When asked how he learned the skills he used in house restoration, he would answer, “I read it in a book. There’s a lot to learn from books.” As parents they taught their two children to read, setting an example with a regular reading time in their home, where all four family members spent time reading. They helped each child start their own collection of books. Arlo spent many hours outside the school teaching struggling students to read. “Reading is the greatest gift we can give to others,” was the dicta of his life’s work. Many Seattle area students learned to read from his patient, persistent instruction. After retiring Arlo and Della bought a Laundromat as an investment. By poring over a repair manual, Arlo kept the machines in top running order. Plus, even though the place was designed to be self-service, he was such a helpful person that he often pitched in to help someone who had an extra large pile of laundry to do. One day a customer Arlo did not recognize entered the Laundromat. She was a young adult who obviously had several children because she had a huge pile of laundry to do. As she sorted the clothes into the machines, Arlo approached and asked “May I help you?” “You already have,” she responded. “You taught me to read when I was in the sixth grade.” Author Dave Arnott’s website is http://www.davearnott.com

by Phyllis Yearick Charlotte, North Carolina, USA My 9-year-old daughter and I were flying from our home in Charlotte, North Carolina, to spend a week with my husband in Miami, Florida. Mike had been in Florida for five months working for an Internet start-up company. We were excited about the trip because we had seen him only five times in five months, and Kallie missed her dad terribly. As usual on the Charlotte-to-Miami flight, the plane was totally full. I had noticed a troop of Boy Scouts at the gate and commented to my daughter that if anything happened, we would be OK with all those Scouts on our flight! Little did I know…. Because we did not get our boarding passes until we arrived at the gate, Kallie and I could not get seats together and were separated by the aisle. That wasn’t such a big deal, except that Kallie was nervous about the trip and had counted on my reading to her the whole way. Trying to read across the aisle would be a challenge. When the two passengers who shared my row boarded the plane, I asked if they would switch places with Kallie and me, so that we could be together and so that she could sit next to the window. They refused, saying they thought they should stay in their assigned seats. Meanwhile, a mother and her three children were in a panic several rows ahead of us. There had been a mistake in their boarding passes, the whole family had been split up. The passengers in her row also refused to move elsewhere. The mother could hold her baby, but her 6-year-old son and his older brother had been scattered around the plane. She was very concerned about the younger boy sitting with strangers. She was in tears, yet nobody offered to help her. Suddenly the Scout leader stood up and said, “Ma’am, I think we can help you.” He then spent five minutes rearranging his group so that adequate space was available for the family. The boys followed his directions cheerfully and without complaint, and the mother’s relief was obvious. Kallie, however, was beginning to panic at the thought of not being next to a window or her mother. I told her that there wasn’t anything I could do; we would have to sit where we were. Amazingly, the man sitting next to the Scoutmaster (not a Scout himself), turned around to me and asked, “Would you and your daughter like our seats?” referring to himself and the Scoutmaster. He said he was cramped in the window seat and would really prefer the aisle. We traded seats and continued our trip, very much relieved to be together and watch the scenery from Kallie’s window seat. Would that man have offered us his seat if the Scouts hadn’t done so for the mom and her children? I don’t know. But I do know that kindness is contagious, and good deeds beget good deeds!

By Meg Goldsmith Groton, Connecticut, USA I first met Kerry via the Internet in 1993 due to our mutual interest in baseball. We didn’t actually meet until 1994, when several of us e-mail baseball pals got together in person for a week of baseball and friendship. Not until the year after that did I find out how much of a friend Kerry would turn out to be. In July 1995, my collie got sick. At first I thought it wasn’t anything serious, but as he moved into his fourth day with no appetite and extreme lethargy, I took him to the vet. The veterinarian found that he was running a very high fever and immediately hospitalized him while trying to determine what was wrong. The next day I had a call from a specialist who told me that it wasn’t good news. My collie had pancreatitis and she considered his prognosis to be very poor. She explained that she hadn’t had much luck with this disease in collies but she’d do all she could for him. She also told me that it was probably going to cost at least $500 to treat him. I was devastated by this news, particularly since I had no money to spare, having recently purchased my first home. I sent an e-mail note to Kerry explaining what was going on, and added that I might have to put my dog to sleep because I couldn’t afford the veterinarian’s bill. Within an hour, Kerry wrote back and told me that he would pay for treatment, just tell him how much I needed and he’d send me a check. When I read his words, I started to cry because nobody had ever before made such an offer to me. I told him I’d get back to him. The next day I visited my dog. That’s when I got the full scope of how sick he was. The vet technician brought him out, tethered to an intravenous feeding device. He didn’t recognize me at all because of the high fever, and he wasn’t responding to the medication they’d been giving him. I petted him and told him that I’d do what I could. I went home and called Kerry, explaining just how sick my dog was. He told me it didn’t matter, that he wanted to help me, so I accepted his offer. The next day, the vet tried a different treatment and they were finally able to break the fever. Slowly my dog improved and he was able to come home after a week in the hospital. I repaid all the money to Kerry the next year. Amazingly enough, my dog continues to do well on a special diet five years later. The kindness Kerry demonstrated at a time of such great distress showed me what true friendship is all about.

by Cynthia Castellon Marlboro, Massachusetts USA Our family consists of myself and my husband, who was born in El Salvador, and our three children, Mito, Daniel, and Missy. This past summer we traveled to El Salvador for a two-week visit, the first time the children had been outside the United States. They couldn’t speak the language, but that didn’t stop them from exploring the neighborhood and trying to communicate with the local people. Life is quite different in El Salvador. The houses are made of clay and many have dirt floors. My father-in-law’s house had no running water and an outhouse toilet, as did all the houses on the same street. We had electricity, though some neighbors didn’t, and those folks went to bed and rose with the sun. Most of the animals were kept for food purposes, and the children were excited to see chickens and pigs running loose in the streets and yards. Talking to neighbors, I learned that they also kept dogs so that no one would steal the livestock and the few luxury items they had, maybe a TV or radio. Our son Danny just happens to love dogs. The family living next to the home we were staying in had several dogs, with two five-week-old puppies. The family living one house beyond them also had several dogs and four puppies. Every one of the puppies was skin and bones. Danny’s father explained that those were “common” dogs and that the people were too poor to feed themselves, never mind the dogs. Well, 9-year-old Danny wasn’t having that! He counted the money he had earned all spring and insisted that we buy dog food with it. We had to drive 10 miles to find a store that even had dog food, but Danny fed those puppies every day for the two weeks we were in El Salvador. When we fed the puppies, we always took food for the family, and often we’d sneak money to the kids so that they could buy a cookie or ice cream. When Danny returned to the United States, he didn’t just forget about those puppies, he continued to earn money and send much of it to El Salvador. We send the money to a responsible relative along with extra money for the families. I’m proud of the change in Danny’s attitude since that vacation in El Salvador. He saw people who live a life that is so different from his life here in the United States, and he hasn’t forgotten them. He made friends with people from another country. To see a 10-year-old “tough” boy feeding starving dogs in another country, taught me that not only people may need help, but that animals need help also. But don’t tell Danny he’s “softhearted” — you’d ruin his “tough man” act. It’s all in a kids days work.

by Ben Nelson Washington USA For many years I’ve been getting together with my friends “Andy” and “Casey” in Anacortes, Washington, just about every weekend to just spend time together. I’ve known Andy since high school, and Casey since about 1996. I’m always the one that tries the absolute hardest to make it every weekend. When I called them to tell them that I wasn’t going to be able to make it in early 2002, they wondered what was up. I told them that my fifteen-year-old cat, Casper, was terminally ill with cancer of the voice box and that my family had decided that it would be cruel to let him suffer any longer. They told me that they understood, and that there would be no hard feelings for me missing the weekend at all. After all, at 25 years of age, I was going to have to have a pet put to sleep for the first time in my life. Not only that, but a very beloved pet who was literally over half as old as I was. They knew it was a rough time for me anyway, as my grandfather had passed away that year, and I was between jobs. Two days later, I heard a knock on my door. It was Andy and Casey. They showed up unannounced to check up on me because they knew what Casper had meant to me. They knew that I was in a lot of pain and grief, and being friends they wanted to make sure I was OK. They drove me over an hour to one of very few theaters that were still showing a movie that I had wanted to see, but never got around to, “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring”. We went all the way to Bellingham, and also took me out to eat at a very expensive restaurant on their dime. I had an enjoyable evening, even with the loss of my dear cat still on my mind. Words cannot express to me how much this gesture meant. While nobody can replace my beloved Casper, the friendship they showed to me will always have a place in my heart. I know that without their show of friendship and love that my mourning would’ve been much more painful and much prolonged. Every time I think of their generosity, I get tears in my eyes. I’m lucky to have true friends like this. I want the world to know how wonderful my friends are, for their acts of unselfish and true friendship.