I still vividly remember the day I won first place in a bike race. I was the smallest among all the competitors, and for the first time, I earned a medal. I couldn’t believe my great achievement in the middle of a forest and muddy paths.  

This was part of a family festival that lasted from early morning until the afternoon. Afterward, we went back to the city to have a snack at a pastry shop called Chantilly. Back then, going there was a luxury for my family. In fact, it was the first time I remember setting foot in that place. We were accompanied by a couple who were friends of my mom and my aunt.  

Since I was a girl, I learned not to ask for what I wanted so as not to bother or annoy (really). And Chantilly was about to test all my willpower. It was the paradise of cookies, cakes, and sweets.  

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the coolness of the air conditioning when I entered, so contrasting with the heat outside; and I smell the aroma of hot chocolate and freshly baked cake. Just that alone was a gift.  

I don’t know if I sat down first or went straight to the pastry display case, but I remember feeling enchanted as I looked at the variety of shapes and sizes. When I was shorter (under 10 years old), the cookies were right in front of me.  

I have a vivid memory of a detail: there were caramel, dark chocolate, and white chocolate Bunny-shaped pastries. Dozens of them. Since I had won my medal in the competition, I got to choose a 🐰. So I had to think very, very carefully. At that moment, Jerry, a family friend, approached me and asked:  

Which one do you want?  

I replied:  

I don’t know, I like them all.  

I felt overwhelmed by so much abundance. And then, Jerry did something surprising. He looked at the person behind the counter and said: 

Give me one of each.

At that moment, I felt panic. “One of each?!” That wasn’t what I wanted to cause. But Jerry smiled at me, with that 90s mustache like Tom Selleck, and said: 

Relax, I’ll pay.  

I watched as the girl behind the counter carefully arranged the bunnies on a HUGE white tray. I got so many of them.  

Inside me, guilt, amazement, happiness, and above all, gratitude mixed together. My mom, in the distance, smiled affectionately at me and held up a sign that read, “Honey, it’s okay, enjoy.” I must confess something: until that moment, no man—especially in my family—had ever shown me even a gesture close to that.  

Once at the table, we placed the tray in the middle. And we all enjoyed the mountain of pastries and petit fours. Because the greatest happiness is shared.  

_____

This year, after my little nephews’ baptism, the twins of my cousin, I stopped by a pastry shop. I don’t go there often, but it was on my way home. As I approached the counter, I saw them. Decades later. There they were: the bunnies, almost identical to the ones Jerry gave me that day.  

And my heart clenched.  

I got emotional. I took a picture, like someone who finds a treasure, to never forget that feeling: the one where someone, without expecting anything and with not much himself, gives you a “one of each.”

Thank you, Jerry.