I learn a lot from kids. And occasionally they remind me of important truths.

Last week I was in a kindergarten class. I always have fun introducing myself with the age appropriate explanation that there are two sounds, two syllables in my last name. The kids seem to enjoy blending the sounds to arrive at something approximating “Mr. Boomsma.” My activity with these little ones was to create a graph of the class’s favorite farm animal, so I also explained that I would be calling them up one at a time to select their favorite animal so we could glue its picture on the developing graph poster.

One little girl raised her hand high and, when I called on her, asked, “When we come up to do that, may we tell you our names?”

The very next day I attended a middle school science fair, primarily to take photographs. I know most of the kids and they know me. I was scanning the room for photo ops when a student walked over, stood beside me and said, “How are you, Mr. Boomsma?” Normally I have a happy snappy comeback like “If I were any better I’d have to be twins,” but for some reason I only said, “I’m okay.”

Perhaps because the answer was out of character she asked, “What’s wrong?” I briefly debated changing the answer to something more positive. But decided to be honest and share that I have been having some trouble with a pinched nerve that’s causing some trouble with my right arm and hand. She expressed genuine concern and encouragement. I was, to be honest, surprised. She’s not seemed to me to be overly compassionate. Now I realize that might have been because I haven’t given her the opportunity.

Those two incidents have something in common. They both demonstrate the fact that kids of all ages desire and need human connection. I fear too often we deny them the opportunity because we forget they are little human beings, not simply kids.

That kindergartener wanted me to know her and her classmates by name. It was a noble gesture on her part and perhaps a bit of a failure on my part. (In my defense we were pressed for time, but I still feel like I failed a little. They were sitting around me on the rug, so I couldn’t see the name tags on their desks.)

The middle schooler and I knew each other; it wasn’t about names but it was about connecting. I learned a long time ago not to read too much into kids’ behavior, but our encounter was out of character for both of us and did make me think. I am rarely less than happy and good when with students. She has not, historically expressed much interest in my well-being.

The simple truth is we connected in a way that was not usual. It matters far less why than the fact that it did. I certainly am not going to analyze it and remove the joy from it.

I am going to let these incidents serve as a reminder to view humans, regardless of size and age, as humans. We need to be interested in each other. We need to connect with each other.

Human connection doesn’t have to be hard or complex. It could just be wanting to know the other person’s name. In kindergarten it meant listening enthusiastically to a young fellow who insisted he has 6,000 horses and he rides each one every day. (I whispered to the teacher, “I’ll bet you’ve told him a billion times not to exaggerate!”) He gets a lot of points for excitement and enthusiasm. Accuracy is not so critical to the explanation of how much he likes horses.

Human connection could also just be about being interested in how another person is feeling. And, while I don’t recommend we answer with a detailed description of our many health woes, we might choose to put some thought and honesty into our replies.

Some of my favorite conversations with kids are the brief ones, walking through the halls. I’ll try to keep pace with someone and ask how the day is going or for something learned that day. Sometimes I’ll just ask, “Are you okay?” if they seem troubled. I’m not always prepared for the answers, but I try to remember it’s mostly about listening and connecting.

Kids are, I think, better at connecting than adults partly because they haven’t developed as many filters and while often prone to exaggeration, they generally are honest. I recall one conversation with a youngster whose rabbit had died. I mustered up my best empathy until he explained, “No problem. We’re getting a new one tomorrow.” If he’d been a little older I’d have suggested he consider teaching grief management. I suspect we might learn something from him.

Be open and willing to kids and adults. Don’t think of it as trying to be helpful, although that may be one of the results. Think of it as being interested and truly concerned. And that kid may be more interested in you than you realize. We are more alike than different. Why not share those alikes?