My 6-year-old son emptied his piggy bank to help our elderly neighbor when her house went dark — but the next morning, our yard was covered with piggy banks, patrol cars blocked the street, and one officer handed me a red piggy bank with a war:ning: “Break this open.”

“Mom carries heavy bags all the time.”

Mrs. Adele smiled sadly.

“I know. That is why I won’t add one more.”

I should have pushed harder.

Three nights later, Oliver stopped in the hallway with his toothbrush still in his hand.

“Mom.”

“What is it, baby?”

“Mrs. Adele’s porch light is still off.”

I looked out the window. Her little house was completely dark. No porch light. No kitchen lamp. Nothing.

“She might have gone to bed early,” I said, though I did not believe it.

“No.” Oliver ran into his room and came back holding his green piggy bank. “She says porch lights help people find their way home.”

I glanced at the bills sitting beside my coffee cup.

Oliver noticed.

“Are we out of money too?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m just making sure every dollar knows where it needs to go.”

“Then can some of it go to Mrs. Adele?”