When I was in the third grade, Mother’s Day came around much too quickly; I found myself empty-handed with nothing to give my mom on her special day. So I was thrilled when an announcement over the loud speaker said that one of the older grades would be selling pins that said “Number-One Mom.” It may not sound like much, but to an 8-year-old, it’s perfect.

So each day I told myself that the following day I would bring the money to buy the pin, but I always forgot. And I was incredibly disappointed when the principal and a few of the older kids selling pins came into my classroom and announced that it was the last day to buy them.

I was always intimidated by my principal. She could be sweet and sugary, but under this frosting coating was a tough cookie who didn’t take any … garbage. If you stepped out of line, she was quick to set you straight, so I remained as stiff and disciplined as a soldier in her presence.

On this day, however, my principal was in a good mood. And she must have heard me tell my classmates I’d forgotten my money again. I wasn’t crying or throwing a hissy fit, but she knew I really wanted to buy a pin.

After she left, I got called to her office. I’d never been there – ever – so I was terrified. When I arrived shaking in my navy blue dress shoes and plaid jumper, she told me to come to her desk, and she pulled out the pin I’d had my eye on for days.

“The kids gave me this to give to my mother,” she began. “But my mom passed away, so I want you to have it.”

Taking the pin, I looked at it in my tiny hands. I didn’t know what to say. I probably thanked her and walked back to class, and proudly presented this free luxury to my mother.

I don’t know if my mom still has the pin, and I don’t know if the principal remembers giving it to me. But I will never forget that act of kindness from someone I’d never expected it from.