It started like any normal Tuesday. My 8-year-old son Ben and I were walking home from the store—me with grocery bags, him chatting away. As we passed a police officer, Ben tugged my sleeve. “Can I say something to him?” he asked. I nodded, expecting a question about the badge.Instead, Ben walked up and asked, “Excuse me, sir… can I pray for you?” The officer looked surprised but knelt down. Ben placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I pray you stay safe, don’t have to hurt anyone,

and remember you’re a good person.” My heart tightened. I hadn’t realized how deeply Ben had been affected by a recent news story I’d tried to shield him from. Later, I asked him why he did it. He looked at me and said, “I thought maybe he needed someone to care. People forget police officers can be scared too.” Days later at the store,

he same officer tapped my shoulder. He thanked Ben again, saying he’d just come from a tough call and that Ben’s words meant more than he could say. When the block party rolled around, families filled the street, and kids ran around laughing. I was sitting ,

alone when I saw the officer again—this time in plain clothes, carrying a dish. He smiled, walking over as a friend, not just a uniform.Ben’s small act of kindness had created something bigger: connection, healing, and a moment none of us would forget.