A simple gesture often carries more weight than we realize. In a stadium filled with roars, cheers, and flashing lights, one unplanned moment whispered a truth about kindness: it’s in the small things.
Victory Day: a term that might conjure images of trophies, victorious games, or fans cheering in the stands. But at Iowa State, Victory Day means something deeper. Every autumn, a week before the first football game, the team opens its doors to children with special needs. These kids get to roam the locker room, try on helmets, burst through the tunnel, and — for a few cherished minutes — feel like part of the team.
It’s a day built on joy, inclusion, and the magic of meeting someone who looks at you not as an outsider but as a participant. For these kids, wearing a jersey, feeling the grass underfoot, and running a touchdown are not just symbolic — they are affirmations of belonging.
One of those children was Colt. He lives with a neurological disorder that leads to excessive drooling, a condition that sometimes draws unwanted attention. But on that Victory Day, everything changed—just by virtue of a quiet, instinctive act.
Colt’s mother, Mandy, wanted to capture a memory: a photo of her son standing beside a football player, smiling into the camera. The player was Funto Akinshilo, strong, tall, celebrated — but in that moment, simply human. As Mandy readied her phone, something caught Funto’s eye. He noticed drool on Colt’s chin—something she had missed in the rush. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently wiped it away.
That fleeting motion — soft, considerate, uncalculated — was the kind of miracle you don’t plan. But it’s the kind that lingers. “It was one of the sweetest moments I’ve ever experienced in my life,” Mandy later said, when she sent the photo and the memory to someone who would tell the story.
In that moment, what was “just a chin wipe” transformed. It became an act of presence. An acknowledgment. A bridge between two people meeting for the first time. No fanfare. No cameras. No expectation. Just a person seeing a vulnerable child, and responding with respect and tenderness.
Why this matters
We often assume that big acts define compassion: large donations, sweeping campaigns, public demonstrations of charity. But here, in a stadium hallway, compassion whispered. It arrived instantly. It required zero planning. It demanded only awareness and a willingness to act.
Think of how many times someone around you feels vulnerable — whether due to illness, disability, grief, or simple awkwardness. A small act of care — a kind word, offering to help, offering silence when someone needs it — can change the shape of their day. The power lies not in how grand the act is, but how genuinely it is offered.
The ripple effect
Mandy shared the photo not to highlight the player, but to highlight a moment. The image went on to move hearts wherever it was shown. It became proof: when we open ourselves to empathy, we create ripples. Others see it. Others feel it. Something inside them softens just a little.
Funto’s act didn’t require training or preparation. It didn’t require applause. It required seeing someone as fully human, someone deserving of comfort. And then choosing kindness over indifference.
- Be alert to small needs. Sometimes, the person next to you needs something you wouldn’t expect. A drink. A tissue. Someone to listen.
- Act without overthinking. The most beautiful compassion often arrives before your conscious mind has time to hesitate.
- Don’t wait for “big opportunity.” You don’t need a stage. The locker room hallway, the lunchroom, the office, the street — those are the arenas for grace.
- Allow empathy to show. Sometimes we hold back out of fear of misstepping. In many cases, it is gentler to reach out than to stand back.
- Let kindness ripple outward. When you witness a quiet act of care, honor it — by reflecting it, by passing it on.
When I picture that moment — Funto’s hand, the child’s chin, the pause in the bustling noise around them — I feel something settle inside me. A reminder that empathy is never out of reach. That we don’t need grand plans to be kind. We just need hearts willing to see — and hands ready to act.
If you carry nothing else forward, hold onto this: the simplest kindnesses matter most. They meet us exactly where we are, and carry the power to heal what we didn’t know was hurting.