Let's call him Chime. He's a toddler not up to two years who lives with his grandma. They do not have so much, but his grandma sees that he has something to eat always. The raggy clothes don't matter, do they? Besides, he doesn't yet notice the difference between his clothes and those of his friends; neither does he know the difference between bacher and brick—his home and theirs.
One afternoon, Chime stepped out of his house with an open packet of biscuits. He called his friends, who at the sight of his biscuit all ran to him, and gave them a stick each. Done sharing, he had just two sticks left which he broke like kolanuts and ate slowly. Not everyone will notice Chime's kindness; not everyone will think it spectacular; not everyone will think him a fine child. But elsewhere, a child who throws a tantrum when his favourite toy is touched by another child his age will be consoled with an oily chicken wing. They will be praised for putting a few notes in their piggy bank. They will grow up always receiving love but never giving it. And no, this isn't about a poor man's child and a rich man's, it is about teaching children charity even before they can spell the word
