Raleigh, North Carolina—Adam is a six-year-old whose life hasn’t been the same since his mother passed. Nobody could coax more than a sentence out of him.

And then came Parent-Day—a school-calendar day for parents to visit children in the classroom.

Someone found Adam crying in a bathroom stall.

One teacher had an idea. So, the following Friday, when Adam arrived at school, she led him to the gymnasium.

“SURPRISE!”

There were decorations, movies, snacks, dance-contests, and games. And I understand cake and ice cream got involved.

When Adam saw this, he explained that it must’ve been a mistake, since it wasn’t his birthday.

But it was no mistake.

His classmates declared it: National Adam Day.

Tallahassee, Florida—Phyllis tells me her neighbor, Gene, has been power-blowing her driveway for years now. Whenever clutter from trees falls in the yard, Gene shows up with his blower, and (voila!) life is beautiful.

Gene got sick. He wasn’t able to do much, let alone do outdoor work.

One morning, three teenagers from across the street showed up, unannounced, to cut Gene’s grass. They also took good care of Phyllis’ driveway. No charge.

For eight years.

Lawrenceville, Georgia—when Myra put her cat to sleep, it was the hardest thing she ever did.

“He trusted me,” Myra said. “Even though I was taking him to the vet to be… You know.”

Yeah. I know.

The procedure was fast and painless. But not for Myra.

“I felt so lonely,” she says. “You know, you spend fifteen years with an animal, it becomes your kid.”

One night that same week, Myra heard a racket on her porch. She went to check. It was a dog. He wore no collar, and stole cat food from the bowl. Myra shooed the dog, and took away the food.

But, food or not, the dog returned the next day. And the next. And then one morning, she found him asleep on her doormat.

Anyway, Myra’s not lonely anymore.

Listen, I don’t care where you live, what car you drive, how you make your potato salad, or which news channels you listen to. The twenty-four-hour news networks are their own kind of Purgatory.

Right now, I’m not that talking about stances on guns, immigration, economics, residential sprinkler systems, or Santa Claus. And I don’t give a rip-snorting hallelujah whether someone prefers the smell of elephants over donkeys.

What I want to say is: If you’re the kind who tips twenties to tired waitresses; who listens more than talks; who stands by friends even when there’s no money in it; who blows off driveways.

Well then.

Happy National Adam Day.