I used to bake a lot around Christmas-time. It was a tradition my mom started before I was born. She really went to town on making cookies. She would make around 15 different kinds and of each of those she would triple the recipe and make several batches. Even though I liked to bake, I would get really tired of it after awhile. I was not only the helper, but the clean up and wash and dry person.
She would share with the family and our friends and she didn't just give them a little box, she gave them a 1/4 to 1/2 sheet cake boxes away. The closer the friend or family, the more they got. Even the garbage men and the postal people would get a large box from her.
One year, when I was in junior high school, I complained about this one teacher that was really mean to me. He had my brother in school ten years before. I guess my brother was a smart a$$ to him and he never forgot. I wasn't a bad kid, but I did talk a lot. Mr. Welch decided that the apple didn't fall far from the tree and would scold me every chance he got and it showed in my grades. My mother made him up a 9" cake box of cookies for Christmas. Mr. Welch was so surprised that anyone would give him anything (he was a very crotchity teacher) that he could barely speak. I learned that year that Mr. Welch had lost his wife a few years earlier and he told me that she used to bake a lot too. It really touched him and after that Mr. Welch and I were good friends.
I learned several lessons that year:
People who are grumpy may have a good reason for it
Being nice to someone that everyone else has given up on may make a big difference in that person's life
Giving someone a gift of baked goodies can make anyone feel special