Since I was eight years old, my grandpa gave me the same gift every birthday—a single green plastic army man. Year after year, I’d open the tiny box, offer a polite smile, and thank him. I never really understood it, but I figured it was just his quirky way of showing he cared.
That changed recently.
As I opened yet another green soldier on my birthday, my sister pulled me aside, eyes wide and face full of disbelief.
I froze.
Suddenly, every plastic soldier took on a new meaning. This wasn’t just a toy—it was his quiet way of cheering me on, of reminding me that no matter how old I got, no matter where life took me, he was proud. Every year, without fail, he made sure I knew.
“You’re in college now,” my sister said softly. “Try to be more attentive.”
