The following is a true story.

She was a kid. Maybe 5 years old. Her mom was driving, and she was in the passenger seat. They saw the older homeless man standing at the intersection, just like every day.

He was perched by the stoplight, holding a cardboard sign which read, “God Bless.”

He was there every morning. If it wasn’t him, it was usually some other hapless person, holding a similar cardboard sign. Heck, maybe they all used the same sign.

Her mom auto-locked the doors as they eased toward the stoplight. But the little girl was digging in her backpack. The child had just left school, and had something for the man.

The girl rolled down the window before Mom could stop her. Mom evidently forgot to child-lock the windows.

The little girl flagged the older man over. By now, Mom was thinking to herself, it was too late to roll up the windows, the guy was already coming this way. She didn’t want to be THAT rude.

Mom was fidgety. Hoping the light would change before he arrived at their vehicle.

But it didn’t.

The man was dressed in rags. He smelled foul. He hadn’t shaved in three, maybe four presidential administrations.

“I made this for you,” the little girl said, handing him a colored picture. Purple construction paper. Stick figures. That kind of thing.

The man took the page into his grime-covered hands.

“This is for you,” explained the girl. “Because we see you standing here every day, and lots of people just drive past you.”

The old man was looking at the picture. One stick figure obviously represented him. There were other smaller stick figures standing around him.

“It this me?” he said.

The girl nodded.

“And who are these other little people?” he asked.

“Those are kids,” the girl replied, pointing to the image. “This kid is me. And those other kids are YOUR kids.”

“How do you know I have kids?”

She shrugged. “Everybody’s got kids.”

The man was quiet for a beat. Still staring at the picture. The man wiped his face. “You’re right, I do have kids.”

The girl smiled. “What are their names?”

The old man was confused.

Mom was growing impatient.

“You want to know their names?” said the old man.

The child nodded.

So he told her. And he disclosed that his youngest son had died when he was about the girl’s age. In an accident.

Suddenly, the light turned green. Motorists were soon honking behind Mom’s car.

And as Mom and daughter drove away, the old man stood still in the intersection. He was no longer holding his cardboard sign. He was just staring at the coloring.

Mom was livid.

“That was very dangerous,” snapped Mom. “We don’t talk to people like that. You could have been hurt. What on earth possessed you to do that?”

The girl looked out her window, absently, and said, “Our teacher calls it empathy.”

Kids.