I recently witnessed something similar. An old woman stood on the street, her hand out. She looks tired, dressed in an old ragged coat. Under the coat was a light summer robe that did little to keep her warm. She was dressed in a thin scarf and worn-out shoes that were plainly not her size. The grandma did not ask for anything from passers-by; she stood peacefully, looking down.

It was difficult to see her face, but when I did, I couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad. Both her eyes and her soul were empty.Two teenagers, approximately the age of 15, walked past the grandmother. They were laughing loudly, using obscene language, and making a spectacle that could be heard by everyone on the street. Despite their youth, the boys were already smoking and dispersing smoke around them, flaunting their “cool” and “grown-up” status.

The youngsters approached the elderly lady, handed her a cigarette butt, and then raced away laughing. The grandma gasped in surprise, her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the ground. Big tears welled up in her eyes as she began blowing on her palm. The grandmother was then approached by a third-grade boy. “Grandma, don’t cry,” he murmured as he helped her stand. Hold on to my pastry; it’s still warm. Don’t go till I get here.

I live nearby; I’ll be straight back.” The grandmother accepted the pastries, and just as she was about to thank the youngster, he bolted, leaving his schoolbag beside her. He came back five minutes later with iodine and a bandage.The child treated the grandmother’s wound before presenting her with his piggy bank. “I was saving for a toy car, and I’d already saved a lot of money.” But I can save more money for you.” The boy clutched the grandmother closely to keep her from sobbing.The grandma could feel the young boy’s heartbeat. It had the world’s biggest and warmest heart.