One of the easiest ways to resist the rise of barbarism is to talk to people you don’t know. Usually I am rewarded for conversing with strangers in unexpected ways. This morning, for example, in the locker room at Club Williston two young men were suiting up for a workout. One of them labored under some kind of mental disability manifested by making grunts, squeaks, and barks. The other man was caring for him, guiding him through preparation for the gym. They looked like each other, so I assumed they were brothers. I asked the one giving the care if they were, intending to praise or thank him for being generous and loving. He said they weren’t and that this was his job. I told him I liked and respected what he was doing even if he was being paid for his services. Then – and here’s the sweet moment – he looked me straight in the eye from no more than eighteen inches away and said with deep authenticity, “And I absolutely love my work.” In the course of five seconds the care-giver and I had moved from being two nearly naked men unknown to one another, unwilling to make eye contact, and standing way too close in awkward silence as the third of us made weird noises to two men who, for the duration of several seconds, were a community of two people experiencing recognition, appreciation, and maybe even affection between us. The strength of the connection I felt and the light I saw in his face affords me the sense that the feelings were mutual. The warmth of those moments will strengthen me whenever I return to them. All from the simple question, “Are you brothers?”