The man stared as he opened the front door. A boy that couldn’t have been no more than seven stood in front of him, clutching a used grocery bag in his stubby fingers.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Hello. I’m Andrew. Would you like to donate money to help me build a help center in Africa when I grow up?” Andrew asked.

The man frowned. “A help center? What do you mean?”

“It would be this big building with beds, and food, and classes to help poor people in Africa. I don’t like school, but I heard that they do.”

“And you want me to just give a second-grader money for something that might never happen?”

The boy kept on gazing at him. “I think it can happen.”


“Sure. If it’s what they need, I’ll get the stuff I need to do it. I might be a grown-up then, but it’ll be worth it, don’tcha think?”

The man disappeared into his house. The boy, used to getting this reaction by now, started walking down the sidewalk. The man ran back and dropped fifty dollars in the bag.

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