I was tired. Work had drained me more than usual, and my 1½-year-old was mid-meltdown in the cart. I’d convinced myself I had just enough time for a quick stop at Target before heading home, so I rushed in with a mental checklist and a self-imposed deadline.

When I finally got to the checkout, I spotted a line with just one person ahead of me. Relief. I began organizing my items on the conveyor, hoping to be in and out.

That’s when I looked up and saw her — an elderly woman, slowly pulling change from a small pouch. Not only was she paying in coins, she wanted to buy each item separately. I felt my heart sink.

Part of me—the tired, overstimulated, stressed-out part—felt frustration bubbling up. I glanced at my toddler, still fussy. I looked at the woman’s shaking hands. I checked the time. Again.

But then… something shifted.

I started noticing the employee behind the register. A young man, likely in his early twenties. His name tag read Ishmael.

He was patiently, gently helping the elderly woman count her change. Not once did he sigh or rush her. He addressed her with a soft “Yes, ma’am,” over and over again, steady and kind.

At one point, she asked if she had enough for a reusable bag. He assured her she did. Then he walked two aisles over to get her one, came back, and repackaged all her items into it.

Every movement was full of respect. Every word, full of grace.

And that’s when I noticed my daughter.

Little Eloise, who had been crying just minutes earlier, was now watching this moment unfold. She was standing quietly beside the woman, observing Ishmael as he helped count the change. Her eyes followed his every movement.

Suddenly, the frustration I’d felt melted into something else entirely: gratitude.

I realized I hadn’t been inconvenienced at all. In fact, my daughter was witnessing a rare and beautiful thing: compassion in action. A lesson in patience, not from me, but from a complete stranger.

And truth be told, I needed that lesson too.

When the woman finished and slowly made her way out, Ishmael turned to ring up my items and thanked me for my patience.

I paused. And then I thanked him — truly thanked him — for the lesson in kindness he had just given us both.

My plans for the day had been delayed, but I didn’t care anymore. After he finished ringing me out, I pushed my cart back into the store—not to shop, but to find the manager.

I told her everything. About Ishmael’s compassion. His quiet strength. His respect for a woman who simply needed a little time and care. And how much it meant to me, and to my daughter, to witness it.

We left Target that day with bags full of items, yes — but more importantly, with hearts full of gratitude.

So if you’re ever in the Glendale Target, and you happen to see Ishmael, give him a smile. Maybe even say thank you.

Because the world could use more people like him.