Most valuable thing in Wal-Mart

We first saw them in the linens. I was looking at valances, wishing that sage was the same universal shade shared by all manufacturers. She was looking at Cars bedding. My children were both sitting inside the shopping cart. Her little boy was walking beside her through the aisle, touching all of the blankets and pillows he could reach.

They both seemed very happy, very pleasant, taking comfort in each other and an afternoon of browsing. Both were incredibly adorable with bright smiles, light hair and blue eyes.

We smiled the mom smile at each other, which is similar to that wave that bus drivers and jeep owners share. And I couldn't help but notice that her spirit seemed as bright as her smile. Her love for her child was so obvious and plenty that she even seemed to hide it between her teeth.

She said hello, and we spoke for a few brief moments. Mostly about character shows and how you unavoidably hum theme songs while doing laundry.

But then we passed, and I never expected to see them again.

We found our way to frozen foods and nearly had a head-on cart collison with a woman who was clearly drugged up like I've never seen someone drugged up in Wal-Mart. And that's saying a lot because I grew up near a Westmoreland County Wal-Mart where young adults liked to walk off their weed after midnight.

But this wasn't weed. After seeing her companion, who could barely keep his eyes open, and taking notice of the way she didn't want to look at anyone, I reasoned it might be heroin. In the interest of honesty, I felt uncomfortable being in the same place as them. Just the way everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and downward, in their lives made me not want to be part of their environment.

Then I thought I might be overreacting. Then another woman, holding a bag of frozen corn, must've read both my face and mind, and said, "I just hate to see that. How do you become a junkie? These candidates fighting today better starting fighting to stop the drug problem in this country." Then I knew I wasn't alone if I was overreacting.

Moments later, in my attempt to get out of that environment, I made my way to the baking supplies and saw the family from linens. The little boy was reasoning with his mother that, even though he doesn't like strawberries, he would like strawberry cake. Cienna said, "I don't like strawberries eeever."

The little boy's response?

"I don't have a dad."

And we all stopped shopping for a minute.

"Aw, buddy, but you have a Junior and that's just as good," his mother said.

"Yeah," he said.

His mother and I both had tears in our eyes.

"Aw, buddy, you're making me sad."

Cienna, as always, was a voice of reason.

"I didn't have a daddy eeever til I was 2. Now I'm 4. I had a mommy since I was this many," she said, making a zero with her hand.

"Me too. I'm gonna be 5," he said.

"Maybe when you're 5 you'll get a daddy. Wanna play with me?" she said.

Amidst play dates, friendships were starting, but mostly I was just feeling like a proud mom. We can all stand to learn something from the children we love--like reaching out when people need us.