First grade. Quiet time. We had to put our heads down in our arms on our desks. And be quiet and still. We sat with 4 kids to a table. The boy across from me had a small store bought toy he was playing with. I began to pretend I had something also. Not to make him think I did, but just to amuse myself. I was quite imaginative.

The boy across from me whispered, “you don’t have anything.” We were not supposed to talk, so I didn’t answer. And continued my make believe. He repeated his taunt. Then Joey, the boy next to me, handed me a ball. A rather large metal ball. About an inch in diameter. As much as I enjoyed imagining, I was in awe of this wonderous new toy. I had never seen such a thing. The boy across from me made some remark that it was not a real toy. I just thought how much more interesting the metal ball was than his toy, and ignored him.

After quiet time was over, I told Joey Thanks and handed him the ball. He told me it was a ball bearing, and his dad had given it to him, and he could get more. He let me keep it.

I still have it. It used to sit on a shelf, sometimes in a wooden box on my dresser, sometimes in storage, but always there somewhere. And always here in my memory. And when I see it, or think of it, I remember Joey. I forget the other kid’s name, but I remember Joey, and an act of kindness and generosity, and I am reminded there are lots of wonderous things in the world, waiting to amaze us. Simple, wonderfull things.