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When I (Chester) was a boy, we lived in Vancouver, British Columbia. One day I was walking in a downtown park with my father. A homeless woman was pushing a cart toward us, and as she passed she dropped something. My father bent down, picked up the item, handed it to her, and held her by the arm for a moment. Then, in his characteristic way, he said something that made her laugh.
Without a doubt, he made her day. But as we walked away, my eight-year-old sensibilities were horrified. "Dad," I whispered, "You shouldn't talk to those kind of people."
My father smile and said something I will always remember: "Chester, be kind to everyoneeveryone's having a hard day."