With the holidays approaching, everyone is caught up in the anticipation of Thanksgiving dinners, opening presents, and sipping hot cocoa. While we’re busy enjoying the holidays, it’s important to take a moment to reflect on the significance of our most favorite time of the year. I know I’ve a lot to be thankful for; however, I feel most blessed for the simple pleasures in my life: food, shelter, safety, and family. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have these basic necessities as I learned when I recently volunteered at a soup kitchen.
It was an experience that opened my eyes to the plight of the less fortunate members of our society. When I first arrived at the Holy Apostles Church in Manhattan, which serves two to three free meals a day, I didn’t know what to expect. I was hoping to give back to the community; however, the scene I witnessed upon my arrival made my stomach turn. It was half an hour before the soup kitchen opened, and a line of melancholy faces, scrunched into frowns of weariness and heartache, had already wrapped around the block!
As I entered the church, I found myself trembling. Perhaps I hadn’t realized that unemployment had risen drastically in the last year. Or, maybe, numbers and percentages in a newscast are not as powerful as looking into the faces of the unemployed and hungry. It’s a reality that’s hard to digest.
My job at the soup kitchen was simple: place a piece of corn on each tray. The kitchen functioned like an assembly line to fill the trays efficiently. I soon noticed that cooperation was the key. Each trivial task meant nothing on its own, but put together, all the tiny little jobs eventually accomplished something beneficial.
As the people filed in, I took a closer look at our guests. They were from all walks of life. I saw lonely men hobbling over to receive a tray of bread, macaroni, fish, and vegetables. Women with a glassy look in their eyes waited for their share of food. Most carried their belongings with them in their tired arms. Couples and families took the food offered. The children tugged at my heartstrings with their blank, innocent faces. They were so confused, unsure of their situation. I smiled gently, trying to pass on some encouragement.
Hunger and poverty do not discriminate. It could happen to anyone, prepared or not.
I was astonished by the number of people we fed. The line seemed to just keep coming, but the kitchen ran smoothly despite the pressure. As the food began to dwindle, slight adjustments were made, and eventually every person was fed. The volunteers had the utmost respect for the guests; everyone was treated like a unique individual. Accommodations were even made for vegetarians.
As the mealtime ended, I was exhausted and I never wanted to see another piece of corn again. I had a whole new appreciation for charities. I learned that serving the community is extremely rewarding. It brings different people together to achieve a greater good. I met so many inspiring volunteers who sacrifice their time to help the less fortunate.
I realize how lucky I am for the essential necessities. I’m so grateful for my parents’ hard work that keeps bread on our table. I can’t imagine eating at a soup kitchen every day.
The food is a far cry from my mother’s homemade meals.
I’m also thankful for the stability in my life. Having a roof over my head and a supportive family, I don’t have to worry about where I’m going to spend the night, or when my next meal is going to be.
The gift of giving is an American value that many of us often neglect. Sometimes we forget that there’s always someone who has it worse than us. Let’s remember the stories behind our special holidays, like Thanksgiving.
When the Pilgrims came to America, they struggled, much like the people on our streets. However, the Pilgrims were aided by the generous Native Americans who gave those early immigrants food and supplies. Since that day, giving has been a part of America’s heritage, and I’m a better person for having given my time and sharing my story so that others may consider donating what they can to ease others’ suffering, too.
Aglaia Ho is a 16-year-old student from Queens who enjoys writing. Her work has been published in Creative Kids, Skipping Stones, Daily News Children’s Pressline, and The State of the Wild.
