- I grew up very poor. Dinner was toast with a little cheese on top. At 12, I went to a then-friend’s fancy house for a group project. Her mom had set a nice table with an assortment of hot dishes. I was excited and very hungry.
As we ate, everyone was looking at me strangely. When I started to cut my meat, her mom freaked out. She looked at me and shouted, “Are you mad? You’re going to hurt yourself! That’s not how we hold a knife to cut meat!” She approached me and held my hand as she taught me the right way to do it. I blushed and apologized, saying it had been a while since I actually ate meat.
Later that day, when I got home, I was shocked to find a note in my pocket that said, “Our doors are open for you. You can come over for dinner anytime.” For a full year, I spent one day a week at their place, enjoying their hot meals and abundant table. I will always be grateful for my friend’s family. Later, as we grew older, we grew apart, but I will never forget their kindness.
