I went with Leta’s 10th grade to The Franklin Institute last week. Her class has been studying the anatomy of the heart. For those not from Philadelphia, The Franklin Institute is famous for it’s larger than life organ: a maze that allows you to walk up and down the heart’s ventricles, aortas and lungs accompanied by the pulsating beats of the heart’s walls, “thump-thump, thump-thump…thump-thump,” Kids love it. Leta has always been too scared to enter. But yesterday she willingly followed her peers into the heart of, well, darkness… And it was clear she understood where we were because she kept pointing to her own heart as we climbed and descended the inner stairs. Once out, Leta was ready to roam. We ventured into the electricity room, and then into the flight and aviation exhibit. But Leta moves fast and needed more action. I tried to slow her down, but I knew where she wanted to go. We passed a really interesting National Geographic exhibit in the hallway, the 50 best Photographs ever taken, but no such luck. Leta’s focus was on finding “BALL!” Her love of soccer seemed to give her laser focus as she navigated the elevator, made a quick left, then right, then sharp left again, finding her way to the virtual goalie net on the 3rd floor Sports Zone. And never one to wait her turn, Leta barged into a group of boys already playing the game and grabbed the soccer ball away from them. Predictably, the boys scattered quickly, none of them sure what to make of the 3 foot tall tyrant with attitude.

But then I noticed that one little boy from the group did not leave. Despite his friends looks of dismay and teasing, he stayed behind. And he watched Leta kick the ball into the goal a few times. He watched her kick the ball and miss, but raise her arms in Victory anyway. And then he quietly joined in by getting her the ball each time she kicked it. And as he handed her the ball, he gently coached her on how to do it better the next time. “Kick the ball like this,” he encouraged. “Good Job,” he said, “You got two goals,” he praised the next time. I was charmed. This little boy was no older than 10 or 11, but he was clearly special in his own right. I asked him his name. He said Trevor or maybe it was Travis. I don’t remember now, but I told Leta to give him a turn, which she did a few times. And then they began to work out a rhythm of playing together. When he got a GOAL, Leta “high- fived” him, and he did the same for her. But soon, the game ended as quickly as it began. Trevor got bored and wandered off. I made a quick search of the room hoping to spot his mom. I wanted to find her and tell her how kind her son was to Leta, but I saw he was with a school group.

My youngest, Ava, was telling me the other day how much she missed our first house. She said she didn’t miss it because of the wonderful birthday parties, or the magical Christmas Day celebrations. She misses drawing at the kitchen table, catching butterflies in the backyard, and hiding in my closet during a game of hide and seek. Ava misses the little moments. We all look for the big moments in our lives. We think they define us. But I am starting to think that the smaller moments have more meaning.

Trevor’s kindness to Leta was just this; a small moment in time,easily overlooked. But maybe those are the ones worth paying attention to; the ones worth remembering.