I Tried To Buy Ice Cream Cones For Syrian Refugees And Received A Life Lesson In Return

The twins Mahir and Amir have been living in the house across from ours for the past several months. I can only tell them apart by the gap Mahir has between his teeth. They are always smiling broadly, which makes telling them apart easier to do.

Amir and Mahir have three sisters. Their entire family initially fled from Syria to Turkey, together with the eldest daughter's husband. The young couple eventually crossed the sea and made it to Europe, and the rest of the family quickly followed.

Soon enough, the boys noticed the ice-cream truck that stops on our street. I always have a few Euros in my pocket in case a kid stands in front of the truck without enough money.

One day, Amir stood before the ice-cream truck. I waited for everyone else to order first, as I usually have a longer conversation with our ice-cream man.

The line was getting shorter and shorter, but Amir didn't come any closer to the truck. So I took a few coins from my pocket and held them out to him: "Here!"

Amir shook his head, "No, I'm just waiting for my friend!" he said with a big grin.

"If you don't have any money with you, then take this!" I replied, stretching my hand towards him once again.

"No, look!" He said, pulling out a few Euros from his own pocket and shaking his head. "My mother gave me money for ice-cream!"

"Then why aren't you buying any?"

"If I don't spend it, I'll have more later. Then I can buy something better!"

In that moment, I felt a little silly with the few coins in my hand, and I started to think. I wanted to give this little kid a little ice-cream, but he gave me a life lesson.

In the following weeks, I thought of Amir, and remembered that he had a twin. I recalled that Mahir, too, would stand in front of the ice-cream truck without buying a cone.

The two of them would repeatedly ride their bikes or roller blade from their side of the street over to our street and back. They would stop and grin when they saw me or any of my brothers.

The two of them are so similar; even their smiles are identical! It's one of the most beautiful smiles in the world.

When we came home from a trip yesterday, Mahir raced over on his roller-blades. He waited behind our car, until my brother and I stepped out, and then he smiled at us. "Hello!" he called out, and happily skated around our street a couple of times.

As I unpacked the trunk, I remembered we had some sweets that we had taken with us but hadn't opened.

"Here!" I said, and held out the packages to him.

Mahir reacted the same way his twin Amir had reacted during our first encounter: He shook his head and grinned at me.

"Why not? Here, take it already!"

"No, thank you!"

"You're Mahir, right?"

"Yes, and you're Emre!"

"Yes that's right! Mahir, you have sisters, don't you?"

"Yes, why?"

"How many sisters do you have?"

"Three, but one of them doesn't live with us."

"OK, so take these two packages. This one is for your sister and this one here is for the other sister. OK?"

For the first time, I saw Mahir nod. He took the packages from my hands and skated back home, waving happily from their house.

The only thing I've changed about this story is their names. Everything else is true: Mahir's toothy grin, the twins' beautiful smiles, the humanity that binds me to these two boys, the constant shaking of heads, and the rare nod.

These boys, who have been raised extremely well, have taught me a lot of lessons.

This post first appeared on HuffPost Germany. It has been translated into English and edited for clarity.