At times, random events collide in unusual and illuminating ways.

On a recent Monday, the Nobel Prize committee awarded the prize for medicine to three doctors working in the field of immunology. Their work is astounding and inspiring.

The next day, I learned that it was National Cinnamon Roll Day in Sweden, a day dedicated to a pastry. Surprising, yes, but definitely another type of genius.

Adding to these global events that same Tuesday, I accompanied my father, Jim, to the local bakery for his morning coffee. This morning ritual has gone on for years and I join him when I am home in Pittsburgh.

We walked up Washington Road in Mt. Lebanon past the church he has attended for over 40 years and where I was baptized and confirmed; past the junior high and elementary schools my sister and I both attended; even past the former office of our childhood pediatrician.

To all intents and purposes, it was an ordinary gray Pittsburgh day. However, my father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in 2009, so I am not sure if there are ordinary days any more, only days different from before.

Every day, weather allowing, my dad walks "uptown" to Potomac Bakery in Mt. Lebanon. There, at a wooden table, he has his coffee and cinnamon roll.

Words can be a little difficult for him now, but Margie, the manager, and employees Michelle and Beth know just what he likes: coffee with cream, no sugar; cinnamon roll cut in four -- half, then half again -- on a paper plate.

They bring it over to the table for him and have a friendly chat. Even the high school students who work part time on Saturdays know "Jim." They, too, help him with his coffee and cinnamon roll. So much for the myth of self-absorbed teenagers or uncaring modern society. That doesn't seem to apply to anyone there.

On this particular Tuesday of Oct. 4, Dad and I arrived at the bakery to a chorus of greetings. We had been to Rehoboth Beach for 10 days and they had all missed Jim! In fact, they had been a bit worried. I promised that my mom would call them in the future when my parents went away.

We settled into our chairs at the round table and talked about what was in the newspaper. Customers came in and out, picking up cakes, donuts, cookies. "Good mornings" were exchanged. One customer proclaimed it was National Cinnamon Roll Day in Sweden, so he had to buy one. He left the bakery a happy man.

About to take another sip of coffee, it suddenly struck me. Recent events and conversations came together and I formed a committee in my own head. A Nobel Prize, a cinnamon roll and a bakery. Why was there no Nobel Prize for kindness?

The Nobel Prize for medicine this year was a monumental achievement and undoubtedly we will all benefit. The discoveries, and stories behind it, are remarkable and magnificent.

However, noble things were also happening in a bakery on a street in the South Hills. Kindness was being served up, every morning, with no glittering prize attached.

This gesture of human kindness was also a monumental thing and it was happening right in front of me. There is also greatness in small things, even in an ordinary cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee.

I put my coffee cup down and looked around at the glass cases filled with birthday cakes, pies and Halloween treats. My dad had just finished his favorite, the cream cheese icing cinnamon roll.

He said, "They're good people." He uses that phrase when he is relaxed, content, happy.

"Yes," I said, "they are."

First Published: October 19, 2011, 8:00 a.m.